


On the finer points of magical control, teacups, and the fluid nature of familial connections

by microdreams



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 90s snacks, Character Study, Charms, Coming Out, Drinking, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Forced Proximity, Grimmauld Place, Hogwarts Eighth Year, IKEA, Interior Decorating, M/M, Memories, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Wandlore (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-08-26 14:32:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 59,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16683403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/microdreams/pseuds/microdreams
Summary: Hermione cocks her head to the side, looking right at Harry, eyebrows raised in silent question as to what exactlyisthe "this" to which Harry is referring. Harry nods in the direction of the teacup indicating she keep looking and, as Hermione turns and watches, tiny cracks snake at increasing speed across the surface, and the cup crumbles into a circle of fine porcelain dust, a thicker ring around the edge where the walls of the cup had stood."Fuck" breathes Hermione gently.* * * * * *Or how Harry is Master of three wands, but has decreasing amounts of control over his expanding magical energy, and he needs to get Malfoy onside.





	1. Three weeks later

**Author's Note:**

> Right. So, this is the first fan-fiction of any kind that I have ever written, so I’ve no idea how this will be received!
> 
> I only have this part written so far, but I have it all plotted out in my head. I only started writing yesterday and this is to where I got, so I thought I’d post it up and see if it gets enough attention to warrant me continuing it. 
> 
> POV moves between Harry and Draco, hopefully you can tell which is which, (at first Harry refers to Draco as ‘Malfoy’ in his head, and Malfoy of course calls him ‘Potter’, and they refer to themselves by their own first names.)
> 
> Endgame is Drarry, but it will be slow burn, I figured it is going to be difficult enough to get them in a room speaking reasonably to each other, it will take them a while! 
> 
> It will probably get explicit, if I can get over my own embarrassment. There will be some Ginny/Harry at first, and then some Harry/OFC and Harry/OMC. And mentions of past Draco/OMC. But definitely proceeding in a Drarry direction.
> 
> I hope you like what there is so far, which is basically just the set up of the situation they find themselves in post-War, and is pretty explanation and dialogue heavy for that reason. Let me know. I have no beta, so mistakes are all my own.

"Fuck it all to shit!" 

The oddly proportioned teacup hits the far side of the room and shatters, tiny fragments of ceramic rebounding from the solid range in the fireplace. It's equally disproportionate cousins sit scattered across the table, some lumpy with stretched handles, others so paper thin that they can hardly even be described as ceramic any longer.

There is a clean whisper of magic through the air, and then the shards currently dispersed across the kitchen floor abruptly vanish. 

"Still having trouble then?" Harry looks up to see Hermione leaning on the kitchen doorframe, wand in her hand, observing him with an _almost_ concealed look of concern.

Harry drops his own wand to the table, and gestures at the motley teaset. "Yeah, you could say that.” he huffs, “Sorry.” His lips quirking up at the corner. "And there's this now too". He hesitates briefly, then picks up a sugar cube out of the bowl and places it in front of himself on the table. Concentrating, he gestures smoothly at the cube with his hand while whispering the incantation. The cube transforms into a perfect cup: delicate porcelain, with an elegant shape and subtly handpainted decoration. 

Hermione cocks her head to the side, looking right at Harry, eyebrows raised in silent question as to what exactly _is_ the "this" to which Harry is referring. Harry nods in the direction of the teacup indicating she keep looking and, as Hermione turns and watches, tiny cracks snake at increasing speed across the surface, and the cup crumbles into a circle of fine porcelain dust, a thicker ring around the edge where the walls of the cup had stood.

"Fuck" breathes Hermione gently.

* * * * *

Settled opposite each other at the kitchen with robust mugs of tea in front of them both, Hermione eyes Harry cautiously. "So, control of your magic is deteriorating even when you work wandlessly?" It has been a few minutes since either has spoken, Hermione had cleared away the tiny ceramic disasters, and found milk in the fridge, while Harry had shifted the kettle onto the hot ring on the range top to come back to the boil, and silently added tea to the pot, gathering mugs from the cupboards by hand, and biscuits from the pantry. 

Now they are sat down and Harry still hasn't said another word, Hermione clearly feels she has to press him for answers. "Harry?" "Yes, no, well, some things" he hedges. "My basic stuff seems secure, just now, like Lumos, Nox, Alohamora, Expelliarmus, Protego and stuff. I've got the magical equivalent of muscle memory on my side there." And she really doesn't seem to like the implication that 'just now' holds. 

"I can cast a Patronus, and I can levitate some things. Weirdly heavier things seem easier, Ollivander reckons that might be because of resistance, like when my magic has got a bit more to work against it's better? But the delicate stuff, well..." He gestures at the area of table that previously held the teacups. "Like I could probably levitate a tree trunk, but a pencil might end up anywhere". He tries to laugh, but it falls flat. 

"I haven't tried to Apparate yet, and if I hurt myself I think I'm going to get you to do the Episky, or who knows what might happen."

"So you've seen Mr Ollivander?" Hermione asks, a little relieved, and obviously trying not to think too hard about the Episky comment. "What did he say? Did he have a solution? I arranged with Headmistress McGonagall to have access to the Restricted Section, so if we need to research anything then I can go and get whatever you need. In fact I think I recall a book that might be relevant..." she trails off as Harry groans and drops his head into his hands, elbows on the table.

"Yeah, he gave me some answers. He's not got the shop open again yet, but I went round to his house." 

He rubs his hands up over his eyes, behind his glasses, suddenly tired beyond belief. The relaxation and privacy that he's had over the past three weeks since the Battle have been doing him good, but right this second he thinks he can't feel any of the benefit. "I've just been hoping he was wrong, that I could get a hold of this another way. Ugh! Fuck my life, just seriously, fuck it!"

And then, with another groan from behind his hands, he proceeds to explain.

* * * * * *

"I'm really not sure this is a good idea, mate", and yeah, Harry isn't either but this is what one of the foremost Readers in Wandlore has told him he needs to do, and even Hermione doesn't have any other workable ideas, so this is what he's stuck with. 

"Ron, please, just go with me on this?" he pleads, "I'm going to need you guys". He looks at Ginny sat next to him, and she squeezes his hand as he gives her a weak smile, "If only to maintain my own sanity". 

"Yeah, I know, OK. But I still don't get how this is actually going to work. I mean, you'll have to _co-operate_ "

"That's where the needing us for his sanity bit comes in, you dick. He's going to have to play nice in a way that is so contrary to his entire personality that we're going to need an army of Episkys to heal the tongue biting." Ginny retorts, and Harry is grateful to her for both the support, and for trying to bring some levity to the situation, but he's also deep down a little scared and uncertain, and they have always been the feelings that've unsettled him most. The ones he's packed away so that he can forge on with what needs to be done. 

The consequences of this not working out are still somewhat unclear to him, and as well as the fear he's also somewhat angry. This was meant to be the easy bit. The aftermath. A slow wind down from the long period of rage and fear, a time of quiet grief and renewal. This was meant to be the stable safe bit. He squeezes Gin's hand again, reflexively. 

The flare of the floo sounds from the living room, and then two sets of footsteps can be heard in the hall. Ron and Ginny look at one another, as Harry looks up at the door. 

Malfoy looks different, Harry thinks distractedly. Not smaller exactly, but maybe less puffed up, less sure of himself. But, of course, he does his best to hide it well. His back straight, his expression impassive.

His eyes sweep the room, glancing over the Weasley siblings as if they aren't there, but it stops on Harry. 

An Auror guard stands in the hallway, shifting from foot to foot and looking a little uncomfortable with the situation, whilst also quite likely internally acknowledging that he's not going to be the one to go against the instructions of Ms Granger and Mr Potter.

"Granger said you wanted to meet with me, and was pretty insistent about it. And, well, I suppose I owe you that much." Malfoy says lazily. 

He sits himself in a wing back chair opposite the sofa that Harry and Ginny are seated on. "So here I am. Why the grand reception committee? Care to tell me what this is about, Potter?"

* * * * * 

Harry gets off the sofa, and strides to the doorway, "Auror...?" "Senior Auror Meadows, Sir" his voice is firm but also a little awestruck, Draco thinks. While still professional, he’s clearly a little out of his depth, although he must have nearly 10 years on Potter. "Thank you for escorting Mr Malfoy here, Meadows," and Draco is impressed, despite himself at the way Potter drops the man's title, clearly indicating to the Auror who is in charge here, "I'll send a Patronus when you are needed to escort him back again". 

Meadows looks wrongfooted, he looks to Granger for help "A perfect opportunity for a tea break, I'd say" she offers with a tight smile. 

"I'm not sure of this, Mr Potter..." Meadows begins a little pleadingly, "But I am" interjects Potter in a tone of voice which brooks little argument, a tone of voice more than a little related to the clear and commanding tone he had used in his final confrontation with Vol-the Dark Lord, Draco thinks, as he tries to suppress that whole memory. "Mr Malfoy and myself have private matters to discuss".

At this Ginny and Ron rise and leave the room, Ginny giving Harry a peck on the cheek, Ron a nod of the head. 

"Erm, this is a little irregular" tries Meadows again, and Draco watches as Potter switches from bad guy to good guy, smiling disarmingly "Don't worry, I'm sure _I_ can handle Malfoy, don't you think?" And that little bit of steel has crept back in his voice, "surely you have no need to be concerned for either my safety or for Mr Malfoy's while he's in my company, Meadows?" and just as Draco is about to make a fly comment, to try and save face at being seen as so pathetic as to be beneath Potter's concern, Potter turns to him and the easy smile he'd been flashing Meadows drops and Potter sends a look Draco's way that manages to be both conciliatory and pleading, before turning the cold smile back on Meadows. Granger takes the Auror by the elbow and propels him down the hallway towards the public floo. 

Draco wonders whether he should grasp this last chance to get out of whatever this is, but he's intrigued. Intrigued both by the question of what the hell Potter and Granger want, and by what has finally given Potter the confidence and desire to play up to his Saviour image. Draco had seen a glimpse of this new found confidence at his own trial last week, Potter speaking as witness of both the positives and negatives in Draco's behaviour during his school years, and for the actions of his mother in the Forbidden Forest. Although Draco had been somewhat inward looking and preoccupied during his trial, he had sensed a change in Potter’s demeanour, and here it was in evidence again. He takes a breath, prepared to halt Meadows, but then as Potter looked directly at him, he lets it go in a long exhale through his nose, and then waits for the returning footsteps of Granger.

* * * * *

"The floo is closed?" asks Harry, not taking his eyes off Malfoy  
"Totally locked down, and all the entrances too." replies Hermione,  
"Tea, Malfoy?" she adds, as she walks off to the kitchen, and Harry stifles a snort at the pure look of "WTF" that Malfoy is trying and failing to keep off his face. Harry can tell Malfoy is interested, knows he is as drawn to secrets as he is himself, and was counting on it getting Malfoy here and convincing him to stay, but he still feels a little like he can breathe a sigh of relief that it has worked out as planned. 

So far.

"Potter." Malfoy sounds impatient, and also a little unnerved, Harry thinks. So he goes to sit on the sofa across from him, leans forward and rests his forearms on his thighs, hands dangling loosely clasped between his legs. "Malfoy. Thanks for coming." He gets a raised eyebrow for that, and then Malfoy leans forward, mirroring Harry's position, looks him straight in the eye. "Well?"

"I asked you here so we could talk about the return of your wand." Harry offers, and Malfoy sits up straight again, face incredulous. "Is that it? Then why the melodramatics, Potter? All that needs is a simple ritual one learns as soon as one starts duelling practice as a child. Merlin, I knew your formal magical education was lacking Potter, but I expected that as Purebloods Weasley or Weasley would be able to put you right on basic points, or Granger. Despite her upbringing, she at least applies herself to the pursuit of magical knowledge." 

It seems to Harry that the relief that Malfoy is feeling at this meeting not being more sinister has caused this outburst of pure pent up classic arsehole Malfoy. He's surprised to find it doesn't really rile him up in the way it once would have, and he gusts out a gentle "Shut it, Malfoy" and gives a little smirk at the thought that the poor bastard is under the impression that any of this is going to be easy. 

Hermione returns with tea, in non-transfigured porcelain, and Harry takes the distraction that offers to press on. "It unfortunately isn't that simple." Malfoy ignores the cup Hermione has hovered next to him and stands, "Yes, it is Potter, so either get my wand, and we'll do the necessary ritual, or if you are just going to be a prick about it, I'll go." 

He makes a move in the direction of the door as Harry quickly says "It isn't just about your wand." Malfoy looks at him, and he knows he has to keep going. Has to give Malfoy more to keep him here, at the moment he thinks Harry is playing games, possibly taunting him, lording it over him, and he has to get him to see he's serious. 

"When I became Master of your wand, I became Master of another too. Then after, I fixed my own, so now I've got three wands at my disposal, and, well..." He picks his own tea cup out of the air at his side and throws it to the floor. He muses for a heartbeat on the seeming centrality of teacups to the illustration of his situation then raises his wand and casts "Reparo" at the pieces. They melt and slink slightly around the hardwood floor congealing into a puddle, then hardening again into a messy ceramic lump with a surprisingly neat handle protruding from the top. 

Malfoy's eyes widen, and with an amount of grace and composure that Harry can’t help but admire, he sits back down. 

* * * * * *

"What do you mean _another_ wand?" Draco hadn't expected this today, and frankly it is starting to make his head hurt. All he'd had planned for today was a bit of reading, some moping around his rather shitty Ministry chosen temporary accomodation, and the daily meeting with his Ministry appointed contact, usually Meadows, to prove he was still obediently and contritely waiting for them to decide what to do with both him and his Mother.

"At the time I disarmed you, you weren't only the Master of your own wand."

Potter looks at him expectantly like he's waiting for something. And then the knowledge blooms from the recesses of Draco's brain, and he stumbles out, "The Headmaster". Potter nods, "But, Snape?" he adds weakly.

“You were the one to disarm him, before Snape arrived, so you were the Master of Dumbledore’s wand”.

“Harry!” Granger interjects, “We have to be sure of Malfoy’s _discretion_ before we go any further.” And Draco can tell from the way she emphasises 'discretion' that this isn’t something he’s going to actually have a choice about. He remembers the ‘Snitch’ boils on that girl’s face, he heard that it had been Granger’s doing, and he gets an inkling now of why she’s in the room when the others have left. 

“I’m not making an unbreakable vow with you, Potter, I’m in enough shit as it is right now without adding the risk of death for letting slip a wrong word.” 

Granger looks slightly irritable. “Yes, well, while that _would be the easiest way to go about this_ ” she looks at Potter whilst emphasising this part “Harry would instead prefer for you two to enter into a more standard magical privacy contract. There would be consequences to you sharing the information you are about to have revealed to you, but death isn’t one of them.” She hands Draco papers, “I’ve drawn them up myself, using a standard magi-legal format but with the least ambiguous language possible. I trust you have enough magi-legal knowledge to check through them yourself, but if you would you prefer your solicitor to look through it then that would be fine with us. The subject isn’t specified in the contract, that will be added at the same time as our magical signatures, and the contract will be between Harry and yourself.” She pauses for a brief breath, then plunges on.

“Your magical signatures will act as witness and validation, and I will be listed as a proxy that you can communicate with if Harry isn’t able to act for himself, or is unavailable. If other people need to be brought into the situation then there is a clause that allows Harry to specify this verbally to you, which will release you from any conditions that would prevent you talking to that person.” 

Draco leafs through the papers, Granger has been thorough, as he would expect, and he can’t see any loopholes or issues with the contract at all. “Given my solicitor fucked off at some point just before or during the Battle, sensible given his client list, my own reading of it will have to do, Granger.” He looks up at her, “I’m assuming you wouldn’t want me to hand this to my court appointed defender?” 

Granger shakes her head, “We’d prefer to keep the Ministry out of this. Given previous events I’m sure you can understand our . . . reticence . . . to trust current Ministry employees and Wizenmagot members with information of a personal nature?”

He inclines his head in agreement, and wonders at the cordial nature of the discussion, despite all the cloak and wand secrecy. He would have thought it more likely Granger would punch him, again, on seeing him than bring him tea and talk legal niceties. He flips through the pages, taking in the scope of the agreement. Potter interjects “You’ll be able to talk to Ollivander, if you wish, that will be the first exception I make. That way you can verify what we are saying.”

Draco sips his tea and continues reading to the end. “So, as far as I can see” and he addresses himself mostly to Granger here, as she has clearly written this contract, “this contract only binds me to not talking about whatever subject you are about to divulge to me, but it doesn’t bind me to actually _do_ anything with that information, or as a consequence of that information?” 

This confuses him, he’d expected to be bound into some kind of action or promise, but this is just a privacy contract, although a high level one. He’ll suffer an ongoing lack of speech, and a lack of ability to write if he tries to spill his secrets, amongst other consequences. Granger looks at Potter, and Potter shifts forward in his seat. “Yes, that’s right. What might happen next, well I think it will only truly work if you do it of your own free will, but you’ll never agree to it unless I tell you what the situation is. This contract means we can have that conversation, but you can still walk away. And my personal situation remains private, as you can’t talk about it”. 

“Or ‘give away the subject by means of omission, give or allow to have taken my memories of our conversations, write down or by any code or other cipher make copies of the information discussed’ amongst other things.” Draco roughly quotes. 

“Exactly” Potter confirms, still sat perched on the edge of his seat. He looks full of shifting energy, both physical and magical, ready to move and cast at any moment. No wonder with his experiences of the last few years, when Draco thinks about it. He gets the same, that fight or flight response.

“Hmm. Why don’t I get a proxy?” Draco prods, although he knows already that he’s going to sign the document, is desperate to find out what the hell is going on that involves his wand. Is desperate for the chance to get it back, and is drawn to the prospect of being bound somehow into the life of Harry Potter. 

Draco isn’t stupid by a long shot, and while he wishes that he had never got to know many of the things he learnt at his father’s knee, self-preservation and aiming to align himself with the right people is one lesson that he thinks is entirely suitable for his current situation. His father, Draco thinks, had fucked that one right up during the last years of the war, only realising when it was all too late that he had backed entirely the wrong homicidal horse in the race. 

Draco can do better here. Potter, Granger and Co were definitely the people of the moment, and probably of the next few decades, and an alliance with them would do him no harm.

“You don’t need a proxy” Granger says “It will be clearer why, once you’ve signed and we can get on with this.” Draco decides to see how far he can push. He has no idea what cards he actually holds, but he must hold some, or he wouldn’t be having this conversation. “Would that be available for discussion, whether I need a confidante or proxy of some kind, after I had signed this document?”

Granger and Potter have a silent conversation though the means of glances and some expressive eyebrow wiggles, and to Draco it seems that Granger concedes to Potter, and turns to Draco and agrees. ‘Oh, to be privy to the subtle ways of communication between the Chosen One and his cronies’ thinks Draco with a quiet snort. He knows enough now he thinks, and can sense enough value to him in the upcoming transaction. Time to get this show on the road.

* * * * * *

Harry watches as Malfoy takes out an unfamiliar wand, and smoothes out the paper of the contract with a variant of an ironing spell. He flips to the last page and presses his wand to the paper incanting “In Magia Veritas”. Harry stands and does the same, Hermione moves forward, and after they have both signed also adds her magical signature and the essential subject of the privacy contract. “You can call it back any time with “Chartrum” if you would like to read the detail though, but only if you are alone in a locked private space” she adds as she taps the papers and disappears them with a whispered “Abscondam”.

“It’s probably easier to explain in person though, if you don’t mind?” Harry says as he pours more tea for himself and Malfoy. Hermione leaves the room, and the door gently but firmly shuts behind her leaving just himself and Malfoy in the rather grand drawing room. It’s still in a somewhat fusty state, with old fashioned but good quality furniture, faded wallpaper and heavy curtains, but no longer any infestations of magical creatures, nor such copious quantities of dust. Harry looks around. 

“Can we move this to the kitchen? I fucking hate this room. And I have some lemon cake down there.” Malfoy nods, sensing that Harry needs to feel a bit more comfortable to get into the detail of this, and also he wouldn’t mind some cake, when it comes down to it.

* * * * * *

Settled in the rather warmer kitchen, with tea, a slice of rather good lemon drizzle cake he made yesterday, and a solid wooden table between them, Harry feels more comfortable. 

He pops his wand to the side of him on the table, and then slides open a slim hidden drawer in the underside of the table and retrieves Malfoy’s (former) wand and sets it beside his own. Malfoy’s hand twitches slightly, then in what Harry takes as a show of good faith puts his own current wand on the table to the side of him. 

“Is that a family wand? The one you’re using now.” Harry asks almost conversationally. “How are you finding it?” 

“Yes, Potter, it is an old Black family wand. A kind of symbolic or heirloom type affair really. And I’m finding it shit.” He answers frankly. “Not quite ceramic melting levels of shit, but shit nonetheless.”

“Well, I’m glad someone’s teacups are safe” Harry fires back and Malfoy quirks a smile, and then tries to hide it.

“So, let’s get to the finer relevant points of Wandlore then, Potter. Why isn’t it as simple as handing back my wand to me with the usual ownership ritual?”

“Right. Where to begin?” Harry wonders aloud, because really this is one whole intertwined pile of fuckery. “How about at the beginning, Potter, and then go on till you come to the end: then stop” and Harry looks at him out of the corner of his eye, because did Malfoy just quote something Muggle or was that an accident? 

“What Potter? So sue me, Alice in Wonderland is a classic, Mother loves those books. And I’m almost prepared to say I’ll eat my cloak if Carroll didn’t have some knowledge of the magical world. Have you read the things?” and if that doesn’t just throw Harry off course, the idea of Narcissa and a young Malfoy sat reading Muggle books. “That or some heavy psychedelics, I’d say” mutters Harry, before realising he needs to get back to the conversation at hand.

“Right, so when we turned up at your place, you were, although no one knew at the time, Master of two wands. Your own and Dumbledore’s. I wasn’t really Master of any at the time, mine had been damaged when Herminione and I were escaping from Nagani.” He pretends not to see Malfoy’s shudder at mention of the snake. “When I disarmed you I became Master of your wand: Hawthorn, with a Unicorn hair core, made by Ollivander” Malfoy rolls his eyes, indicating he knows his own wand’s characteristics “and the wand that was formerly Dumbledore’s: Elder, thought to have a Thestral tail-hair core. Maker unknown.”

Harry can see the moment Malfoy gets the implication of what he’s just said. His breath stutters, and he glances between Harry’s face, the place where two wands laid on the table as if looking for the third, and then back to Harry’s face again. He seems to be looking for the lie in Harry’s expression, and not finding it.

“That’s bollocks, Potter. A fairy-story for credulous children. You might as well tell me that you’ve been discussing your issue with teacups with the Mad Hatter.”

Harry continues to look at him steadily.

“The Hallows aren’t real, Potter.” he grinds out “I heard the, the Dark L-V-Vol-Him, talk about the Deathstick but he was a deranged homicidal megalomaniac, anything that even had a whiff of power about it attracted him towards the end.”

Harry continues to look at him without speaking, hoping that some time and silence will allow Malfoy to absorb the truth of what he’s said.

“The Hallows aren’t real, Potter!” he repeats.

Harry opens the slim compartment in the kitchen table again, and pulls out a bundle of shimmering fabric and slides is across the table to Malfoy silently. Malfoy takes it unthinkingly as it slides to a stop, and pulls it to himself, starting abruptly when his hands disappear completely from view beneath the folds of the invisibility cloak, leaving only the tabletop to be seen. He looks up at Harry in shock, his face even paler than usual, eyes wide.

“So the third of the brothers could hide from Death Himself” says Harry quietly.

* * * * * *

“Salazar, I was Master of the Elder Wand, while living with that fucking madman in my house? Fuck! If he had known . . . Shitting hells, he’d have killed me in a heartbeat, and enjoyed it, and he’d have had the wand and . . .” 

Draco feels sick to his very core. Everything could have been so very different. His father and that snake-faced bastard would have had all the control they wanted, and the world would not look the way it did right now. How close it had all come to going to complete shit, to Potter not succeeding, to them all living in an ongoing state of fear and death and destruction hits him suddenly and sharply.

Potter looks at him in concern but Draco hardly sees him, his breath is coming raggedly, and he can feel the rising panic for the situation his past self had unwittingly been in, fuelled by his newfound knowledge of how close they all came to a world ruled by the Dark Lord.

“Second door on the right” says Potter as he rises and holds open the kitchen door, and Draco barely makes it to the small cold bathroom before his slice of lemon cake, and all that tea, makes a dramatic reappearance.

* * * * *

Malfoy looks pretty shaky when he comes back into the room, is still pretty pale even for him, and he sits down with rather less finesse than he had done previously. Harry hands him the glass of water he has waiting for him. He’d used the taps rather than Auguamenti, as he rather likes the kitchen unflooded. Malfoy takes it with a breath of noise that seems designed to convey his thanks. 

After a few minutes of staring at the glass and turning it round thoughtfully, during which Harry keeps quiet, Malfoy speaks. “I ask this merely because I’m a completist, I know it doesn’t have any real relevance to the issue at hand, but . . . the Stone?”

“I had that too. That night I had all three, but it was lost. And I hope it stays that way. That one most, of all of them.” He looks at Malfoy and thinks for the first time ever in his life he sees pity in his eyes. No, not pity, empathy maybe, or at least some kind of fellow feeling. They have both seen things they shouldn’t.

Malfoy looks away first, unsettled, looking almost like he thinks he’s intruding on Harry by holding eye contact. He takes a breath, which seems to steady him.

“So, you were Master of Death, if only for a short time. How does that fit with your current penchant for teacup destruction, and the issue with the return of my wand?”

“This is where it gets weird” starts Harry. Malfoy laughs humourlessly. “OK, weirder. So, I took control of both of your wands at the same time. Hermione was concerned that they may be bound together because of that, and if I just handed over control back to you, then you get control over the Elder wand, as well as your own Hawthorn one.”

“Fair assumption”

“Yeah, and Ollivander confirmed that, I talked with him a couple of days ago, to try and figure all this out.”

“So why not just keep my wand, let me struggle on with this one, until such time as I can buy myself another? At some point I’ll probably be out from under the Ministry’s thumb, and then I’ll go to France or Russia and get a new one. I can see why I would want you to hand my wand back, but why do you want to?” Malfoy pauses, “Need to?”

“That’s where the teacups come in. I now have three wands who are all bound to me as their Master. Two here with me, one . . . elsewhere. And that’s fucking with my magic. The three wands are all so different in the way they channel magic, and there is a kind of conflicting sort of . . . focus?”

“Eloquent as ever, Potter”

“Fuck off” rejoins Harry, and yeah, not his best come back ever. And now for the bit that Malfoy is sure to rib him for. “So, alongside that, my base magical level has increased?” He’s not sure quite why that came out as a question, he knows it for sure since the testing by the St Mungo’s healers in the wake of the Battle. He wouldn’t have bothered, probably, but Professor McGonagall had been insistent. 

“Well has it, or hasn’t it? And how is this ‘increase’ evidencing itself? If we’re taking the evidence of your capabilities in class as a starting point for your previous level, well then now you’re not running off and getting involved with every damn dangerous thing going, maybe your now average levels do seem somewhat elevated in comparison.”

“No, really, fuck off” and again, yeah, weak.

“OK, OK, Mr Off-the-Chart, how is this manifesting itself, and how does this interact with the wands?”

Harry is staring at his hands, he feels uncomfortable enough with his increased magical levels, but having to talk about it in front of Malfoy, the guy guaranteed to give him shit for anything good or notable that happens to him, is excruciating. He can feel the heat rising on his neck, and he still doesn’t look up. “It’s not actually off the chart,” he mutters “just beyond three standard deviations, I mean it is still _on_ there . . .” he glances up at this point, and Malfoy’s just staring at him. 

“You were just using that as a turn of phrase, weren’t you?” Harry ventures, the blush running further up his neck and onto his face. He decides to press on. “Anyway, turns out I’m quite magically powerful, but it was being suppressed while Riddle was alive. Now he’s gone, boof!” He gestures with his hands in an expansive motion.

“Boof?” Malfoy deadpans.

“Yeah. Well, anyway.” he rubs at the back of his neck, then scrubs his hand forward over his hair, brushing it up the wrong way over the nape of his neck. He glances up again. “So I’ve got all this extra magic sloshing about” “It’s not a fucking liquid, Potter” Harry ignores him, “and I’m not used to controlling that kind of power yet, and it is getting dragged in all directions by the fact I’ve got three wands to choose from, so yeah . . . “

“Melted teacups”

“Not even the half of it, Malfoy. You should see me with a Diffindo right now.” Malfoy winces.

“So why not just destroy it? The Elder Wand” he clarifies, lest Potter destroy his wand right there before his eyes.

“With what, Malfoy? It’s the fucking Elder Wand. And if I destroy yours” Malfoy winces again “then Ollivander isn’t sure what happens. The Elder Wand became mine when I gained Mastery of your wand, so if I destroy yours what does that do to my link to it? It most probably sets it free without a Master, and I _really_ don’t want to do that. And if I destroy mine” and this time it is Harry wincing “well, for one I’m not sure, I can deal with that. But also that’s the one that’s responding best to me just now. I mean, yours worked pretty damn well for me at first, and I can still feel it trying to channel my magic”. 

Harry doesn’t notice the tension in Malfoy’s shoulders at his casual admission of this bond, he’s so focussed on the wand itself. He picks up the Hawthorn wand and considers it. He can feel the thrum of magic through his body focussing into the palm of his hand. The air around his hand feels thick with it, and he can see little shimmers in the air like dust motes catching the light as the magic tries to resolve itself into a spell. They move through different colours and intensities, shifting and changing. He drops the wand on the table before it can gather too much focus and wreak who knows what kind of havoc. He looks up at Malfoy who looks perturbed by this visible display with his wand, and Harry coughs, uncomfortable. “I’ve not been using it much, just as a test really to try and figure out what’s going on. I’ve been mostly working wandlessly, that’s felt much easier”

* * * * * *

Draco looks up at the ceiling, wondering if he can find whatever emotion it is that he needs there. “He’s mostly working wandlessly” he murmurs, more to himself than Potter. “Of course he is. It’s not like he’s never defied expectations before, is it?” He drops his chin down and glares at Potter. The display of the other man’s magic pooling and flowing around his own wand had disturbed him in a way he’s not exactly sure how to deal with. In some ways he’s glad to be sat here, having this conversation, it feels like maybe it is the first step in a way back towards some kind of normality, possibly some kind of future. But on the other hand it is galling to watch him sat there, with two of his _three_ wands, and magic practically pouring out of him, ‘It isn’t a liquid’ he reminds himself, and his casual confession at the ease of wandless magic.

“Do you have any idea how unusual that is, Potter? How unusual *that* is too?” He nods his head first at Potter’s hand and then his, or more to the fucking annoying point Potter’s, Hawthorn wand. The boy looks a little non-plussed. 

“Of course you fucking don’t, you just throw out wandless spells like it doesn’t take other people decades to master that kind of thing. Have magic fucking congealing and sparking off you, air around you thick with it like treacle.” He’s on a roll now. He’d been intrigued, hopeful even, and now Potter sits there looking as gormless as usual, and how the fuck has Draco got him self caught up in this shit? He should just leave Potter to it. He’s got better things to do, he’s sure. Some high quality brooding and some solid hours of being irritated as fuck at his Mother for their shitty situation while trying not to show it. Because he really doesn’t need to be at odds with her when they are living in a magically locked down small one-bed flat in the outskirts of Edinburgh, where he’s sleeping on a sofa in the bed recess off the kitchen. But still, probably still better than sitting here watching Potter glumly sitting in a puddle of his own malfunctioning magic. “Not a liquid, Gods dammit” he accidentally says out loud, and Potter gives him a look that would be amusing if Draco weren’t so pissed off.

“Why are you even here, Malfoy?” Potter asks angrily, riled up by Draco’s outburst, by his obvious displeasure with the situation. And this is more like it thinks Draco, this is more normal. More normal than sitting down to tea and discussing their recent death filled history. “Because you bloody asked me here, you fool!” Draco rejoins, standing up and picking up his loaned wand. “I assumed you had a purpose for that, but all you’ve provided so far is threatening paperwork, a somewhat rambling narrative on your theft of my wand, and some melted crockery.” He is shouting now, and Potter is also on his feet. 

They’d be nose to nose for sure if the kitchen table wasn’t in the way, and the air is getting thick and shimmery again around Potter. Draco grips his wand more firmly in his hand, widens his stance. There is a tiny voice in the back of his brain trying to remind him that duelling a newly omnipotent Harry Potter in his own kitchen is probably not his best life choice just now, but the the thumping noise of his own pulse in his ears, and the utter conviction that fighting Potter is always the right answer in any given situation are drowning out any sense. Seven years of learned behaviour are hard to shift.

The door flies back and Granger runs into the room. The chairs behind himself and Potter smack into the backs of their knees, sending them both slamming down into their seats, and with wand in hand she glares from one of the other of them, possibly more so at Potter, Draco thinks. “Simmer down” she snaps, “and stop that.” she gestures at the sparkling air around Harry, and glares at him again. Draco can see him take a couple of calming breaths and the air clears a bit. 

She drags up another chair at the side of the table at right angles to both men and then sighs “Why did I think leaving you two alone in a room was a good idea?” Neither of them answer, but look a little sheepishly at each other, and then down at the table.

“Right, bring me up to speed. Where are we at?”

* * * * * *

“Potter has three wands, can’t use a single one effectively, yet can’t give me mine back, oh, and he oozes magic.” intones Malfoy flatly. “I believe that was it, wasn’t it, Potter?” 

And ah, yes, that’s the tone of voice that pisses Harry off from the first second he hears it, he thinks. Why had he ever thought that trying to get Malfoy on board had been a workable idea, he doesn’t know. He should have listened to Ron. It is all very well Ollivander saying what would work magically, but that really doesn’t take into account the two wizards involved here.

“So you haven’t got to explaining Mr Ollivander’s solution yet?” asks Hermione. Harry gives a kind of shrug and a grunt, and he knows it is childish (and he can tell Hermione definitely thinks so) but right now it is all he’s got. “May I then?” Harry waves his hand in a a ‘go ahead’ gesture, and Hermione turns to Malfoy.

“The Elder Wand is a longer term problem, and we’ll continue working on it. On the matter of your wand, while Harry can’t return your wand to you in the usual way, there is a way that he can give you use of it, and relinquish its call on his magic.” Hermione starts. Malfoy sits up straighter and inclines his head. It is clear that he’s now prepared to shut up an listen. “However it is usually a temporary solution, and it is one that will require ongoing action on both your parts to maintain it.”

“How?”

“By invoking Honos Familia, the same way you have the wand you are using now.” Hermione says it like it is the simplest thing in the world. Harry can tell she’s faking it though.

“But we aren’t family, Granger” Draco says slowly.

“No you aren’t, but magically family doesn’t actually mean family, or at least in terms of this particular spell. It is more like ‘alliance’. I suppose it could really be Congregatio or Adfinitas, but that is just the name, rather than the intention, and it is the intention that guides the action of the magic.” Harry can tell Hermione is about to go off on one, she’s clearly been at the Wandlore books in an attempt to help Harry out, nd he loves her for it, but he knows he needs to cut her off before she gets truly embedded in detail of the material, but Malfoy gets there first. “Granger, as much as I appreciate the level of detail you undoubtedly possess, how would this actually work? In practice?”

Harry decides to cut in at this point. As clever as Malfoy is, and he doesn’t doubt that he is actually interested in the technicalities behind it, he understands Malfoy in a way that Hermione can’t and knows that this is the moment to cut to the chase. “Ollivander reckons we already fulfil several of the necessary elements to convince the magic to let me ‘loan’ you back your wand.” Malfoy looks as if he is about to interject, so he decides to cut him off too, before he can get going. 

He holds up a finger “One, we’ve saved each other’s lives. So we’re connected by an unknown balance of debt and duty there already.” “Two, your Mum saved my life, and bonus point, she did it to save you too. So your closest blood relative put herself in danger for the both of us, which creates another connection.” Malfoy settles down and listens, he looks intrigued now “Three, I’m the Heir to part of the Black family. So are you, to another part. So there is a kind of familial connection there, even if an adopted and slightly removed one.” “Four, Kreacher the house elf who is bound to this house and me, probably also recognises your authority to some extent. We need to test that one” Harry turns to Hermione and she nods, ”He definitely responds to your Mum, but he knew her as a Black so he might not acknowledge you in the same way. I’m going to add Black into my name, before the Potter, just because I’d like to, but that should strengthen that link at the same time. You might need to do the same and put Black before Malfoy, I suppose, or your blood connection to the Black’s might be enough.” 

“Five. I am Godfather to your nephew, Edward Lupin. He’s also my sole Heir. So another familial connection there.”

Here Harry stalls briefly. “Six, we were fighting the same enemy, and I testified as such at your trial. So Magi-legal records exist which acknowledge we were on the same side, even if only at the end.” Harry falters again.

“Seven?” prompts Malfoy.

“Seven? Well seven is the wand itself. It was yours to start with, so there undoubtedly is a connection still there deep down, according to Ollivander. It just isn’t the strongest at the moment. So us both having been Master of it, and me actually having used it, is a connection in itself.” He doesn’t mention number eight yet.

Hermione cuts in, “The beauty of it is that if Harry loans you the wand, via Honos Familia, it only applies to that wand, it shouldn’t have any affect on his other wands. In the same way that your Mother conferring the family wand on you hasn’t affected her control or Mastery of her own wand. And because it once was _your_ wand, then the longer you use it, and have control of it, the more under your control it should become.”

“Ollivander couldn’t put a time frame on it, but he said that over time, if you are using it daily and as your only wand, and acceptance of your use of it is, what was is Harry? ‘Continuous and encompassing’?, then the Mastery of the wand may well spontaneously revert to you at some point. But in the meantime you should be able to use it fully, and it shouldn’t have any draw on Harry, or his magic.” Hermione finishes her speech brightly and confidently, but it doesn’t carry to her eyes.

“I’m sensing a ‘however’ here, Granger”

* * * * * *

Draco feels a sense of nervous anticipation. He gets his wand back. And he gains an acknowledged magical familial connection to Potter, which could be useful. This day hasn’t panned out too badly, but he gets the feeling he isn’t being told something, and he hopes it doesn’t send his newly blooming good mood to shit.

Harry answers his request for the bottom line. “Eight, we have to maintain an ongoing, convincing, and reciprocal familial or familial like connection. Past actions aren’t enough to keep this going, not without a blood connection. They are the things we can hang this on, but we need to feed it, keep it going with our day-to-day interactions.”

Draco blinks. Harry and Hermione wait. “Are you saying we have to be friends, Potter? Because I don’t quite see how that works. We are unlikely to ever actively _like_ each other are we?” He doesn’t like to admit to himself that while liking Potter is not anything he can see in his future, he certainly doesn’t hate him the way he once did, and definitely feels a sense of gratitude towards him, personally and as a member of wizarding society.

* * * * * *

“Not friends, Malfoy, just a familial connection. I think we both have experience of family where there was no love lost, but yet still an underlying sense of duty and connection?” Harry certainly does, and he’s pretty sure Malfoy has, at least towards the end, had ambivalent feelings about Bellatrix and Rodolphus. And who knows how he feels about his father now, with the way he’d tried to throw everyone under the carriage at his trial, to save his own skin.

Malfoy tilts his head in acknowledgment. “So how does this manifest itself then?”

“Well” Harry takes a breath “we need to get to know one another a bit. Have a bit more shared ground, common understanding. Ollivander thinks if we spend time together, spend some time talking about our shared experiences and come to some form of understanding about our relative positions, then that should help. Families share secrets, knowledge, a shared place of understanding, morals, etc. If we can get somewhere close to that position, then it should help maintain the link between us, embed it as fundemental in our relationship. I’ll also formally offer you my protection. But it will need a lot of work at first, that’s the toughest hoop to get through, and to that end . . . hethinksweshouldstartbylivetogetherhereforacoupleofmonthsasfamily.”

* * * * * *

Draco knew it was too good to last. Once he’s parsed the garbled words of Potter’s, he lets his head fall forward onto his hands on the table. It makes a dull ‘thunk’. “Fuck my life.” he intones, muffled by his hands. He raises his head “I spend two years with that madman in my house, and then when I’m finally rid of the flat-faced bastard, and thank you by the way, I do appreciate it, you then tell me I have to live with you and sit around telling you my innermost thoughts and feelings, and recalibrate my moral compass? I’m not sure it is worth the wand, quite frankly. I hear Castell is starting to do wonders with wands with Unicorn hair in Italy, I can probably wait.”

Potter, out of all responses he could make, chooses to laugh. “You know, I said almost exactly the same thing, when I was explaining to Mi. Turns out we’re on the same page already.”

“No seriously, Potter, you really think this could work? The logistics alone prevent it. I am under house arrest, pending a decision on probation, as is my Mother. Are we both to just move in here, right under the Ministry’s nose?”

“I can deal with the Ministry.” And of course he can, he’s Harry Fucking Potter, thinks Draco, suppressing an eye-roll. 

“Your Mother, well, she’d be welcome, it is a big house and I’m sure I could make room for her to have private quarters, but well . . .”

“Spit it out, Potter . . .”

“I have reason to believe that she’ll be leaving the country.” And Draco starts at this, he’s not heard anything of the sort from Mother. “At the Ministry’s request.”

Draco is incensed, “Is this part of you ‘dealing’ with the Ministry, Potter? Push my Mother out of the way, so that you get what you want?”

“No, please believe me, I wouldn’t do anything to keep her from you. I would never, could never, do that.” And there is something brittle in Potter’s tone that reminds him all at once that this man never got to know his own mother, and it makes clear in one simple assurance that he would do anything in his power to ensure that others didn’t suffer the same loss. “It’s the Wizenmagot,” Harry presses on, “ They want you separated, for ‘security’. With your father in Azkaban, if they banish your mother to one of your overseas residences, and they keep you in the UK, then they feel the risk in decreased. I tried, but . . .”

Draco deflates. He feels like a wet rag, and he just can’t deal with all this right now. The news that he might get his wand back, that Harry Potter wants him as a temporary housemate, that he’ll be under the Saviour’s formal protection, and that he is losing his mother all in one day is a lot for his recently underused brain to deal with. It is all suddenly quite quite overwhelming.

“I would much appreciate it if you sent that Patronus to Meadows now, Granger. I’d like to go back to my residence.” Draco’s voice has become clipped, he knows, has gone up a notch in formality and coldness. But he’s barely holding it together by a thread. Potter and Granger exchange worried glances.

He softens. “It isn’t a no.” He looks up, looks in Potter’s eyes. “I just can’t do this right now, I need to sleep on it. I’ll give you an answer tomorrow.” Potter must see a shred of the fragility in his eyes, although he tries to hide it, because he lets it drop and nods at Granger. She leaves the room, Draco nods once at Potter, and gets up to follow her to the drawing room which contains the floo connection.

* * * * * *

A tapping on the window wakes Harry up the next morning. He almost gestures at the window to open it wandlessly before catching himself and getting up to open it by hand. A Ministry issue owl flies in and sits stiffly on the perch by his desk. Harry opens the note, seeing that the seal has been broken already then the note resealed with an Auror Department stamped blob of wax. He reads it though twice, then calls for Kreacher. 

“Kreacher, please could you get breakfast started? And after that we’ve got some cleaning and preparing to do in the upper floors, we’ve got a guest coming to stay.”

* * * * * *


	2. A guest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the light of day, when he thinks about it logically, he knows this is the right thing to do. However in the dead of the night, or when his mind wanders off task, he wonders just what the fuck he thinks he’s doing. Now is one of those moments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know some people aren’t too keen on Ginny/Harry, but for my purposes I think it is important for Harry’s post-War development. Ginny is a safe person for him, and him for her, and they need that right now. I think they can help each other out. Also, it gave me a chance to try out writing smut for the first time from a more familiar perspective than m/m. Sorry if it isn’t your thing. This chapter was going to cover a longer time period, but it got away from me. I’ll try and get chapter 3 to follow on more swiftly, and a little less wordily!
> 
> I have no beta, sorry for any mistakes. Let me know what you think. OK so far?

* * * * * *

In the light of day, when he thinks about it logically, he knows this is the right thing to do. However in the dead of the night, or when his mind wanders off task, he wonders just what the fuck he thinks he’s doing. Now is one of those moments. He’s stood in Regulus’ old room, stripping it of personal effects, with Kreacher apparating them away to boxes in his basement storage rooms. As he stands here wondering what kind of curtains he should put up in the room, he catches himself with a incredulous laugh, “who would have thought the first house guest I’d be decorating for would be Malfoy?”

Harry decides to stop giving it too much thought, and looking at the IKEA catalogue picks out some plain pale green linen curtains, with matching bedding, a mirror, some storage, and towels. He eyes up some similar items in grey for himself, and some plain white cotton for the other bedrooms. He’ll pop to the newish Lakeside branch Hermione had mentioned pointedly last week when the chest of drawers she had been trying to open had almost taken her hand off. Some enterprising soul has apparently set up a Floo in a nearby shop, with some freed house elves on hand to apparate flat pack boxes which are too big for the Floo back to wizarding properties. A lot of people are needing to redecorate quickly these days and the recent Hogwarts graduate had spotted a gap in the market. Hermione had handed him the catalogue the next day, one which had come through the door of her parents’ place.

Although he wants to make Malfoy feel welcome enough to make this thing work he decides he doesn’t need to overthink it. It is never going to be as grand as Malfoy Manor, the man will not really want to be here, and will likely be able to find something to complain about whatever Harry does, so he decides to go for clean, plain and simple. Malfoy can transfigure it to finer materials later if he wants, or maybe send Manor elves to get things for him, he guesses. As he leans on a tall rickety dresser contemplating if anything else needs doing, Kreacher appears with a crack, grasps it and apparates it away from under him, causing Harry to descend towards the floor unexpectedly. “Kreacher!” From behind him he hears another crack and a “Yes, Master Harry?” so he leans round from his place on the floor to glare at him. “Can you not do that?” Asks Harry plaintively. He’s had enough of Kreacher’s helpful yet unhelpful presence this morning. He’s much better with Harry now, in fact Harry suspects he even likes his ‘Master’, but the underlying belligerence certainly hasn’t gone away. “Kreacher is helping Harry Potter. Kreacher is tidying, like Master Harry Potter asked.” He replies with a voice that tries to exclude innocence but with a glint in his eye. “Maybe just a warning next time, Kreacher?” Harry sighs, pulling himself up to his feet. If he had a control of his magic, he could do much more of this himself. “Of course, Master Harry, sir. Kreacher is living to serve Master, sir.” and that same faux innocence is in evidence again. He does seem to mean it deep down though. Harry had offered Kreacher one of his old t-shirts, transfigured down to house elf size in the days after the battle, but he refused to be freed, looking positively sick at the very idea.

“Yeah, about that. I wanted to talk to you about Malfoy. How it is going to work while he’s here.” Harry is feeling quite a lot of uneasiness here. In some ways if Kreacher responds to Malfoy that’s a point in their favour of being able to use their ‘familial’ connections to get Malfoy’s wand back to him, and get on track for Harry’s magic being back under his control. On the other, he can’t help but remember Kreacher’s betrayal of Sirius to Bellatrix and Narcissa. He’s pretty sure Malfoy isn’t going to try pulling anything major, at least at this point, but he could still cause disruption plenty enough if he can command Kreacher to do his bidding at will. “Kreacher lives to serve the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black. Kreacher will help Master Black in any way he can!” Kreacher gushes excitedly. He looks at Harry’s pensive face, and backtracks a little “In any way my Master wishes.”

“I’m happy for you to do household things for him, washing, ironing, tidying, food making, helping him get settled and live here. Normal household tasks inside this house. But, I’d rather you ran anything else by me. Like if he asks you to take messages anywhere, if he asks you about what I’m doing, or any of my friends, or asks you leave the house to get him anything. Then you should check with me.” Kreacher looks uncertain, he’s doesn’t seem massively impressed with his duties being curtailed, but a flicker of something like remorse crosses his face as he says “Certainly Master Harry. Kreacher is being checking with you always.” Harry scrambles to try and make him feel a bit better, “It is as much for his own safety as anything. Malfoy is under Ministry guard, and I will be responsible for him, and need to keep him safe.” Kreacher looks somewhat mollified “I’m going to make a vow of protection to him.” adds Harry. “You would vow to keep Master Black safe?” Harry nods. “Kreacher is doing as you ask, Master Harry. I will be helping keep Master Black safe too.” Harry nods his thanks, and goes back to de-junking the bedroom. 

He’s got a few days before his guest comes to stay, Malfoy needs to get his affairs in order, say goodbye to his mother and Hermione is working on squaring it all with Kingsley, before he can move in. But it feels nice to have a sense of purpose even if for something as minor as basic home renovations. He’s thrilled with the whole ‘lack of megalomaniacal dark wizard and cronies trying to kill him’ thing, but he also hasn’t really know what to do with himself either: sleep (or more often not sleep), eat, spend time with his friends, fuck things up with his magic, with no idea of what the future holds. He’s not left the house since the ‘Battle’ except a brief trip to the Burrow. The idea of a trip to IKEA simultaneously excites him and terrifies him, which then makes him feel ridiculous. Never has the prospect of acquiring duvet covers felt so momentous.

* * * * * *

Grimmauld Place is feeling a little better all round, Harry thinks. It is kind of preening at the attention, and seems to be making little useful alterations here and there by itself. The attic has developed a spiral staircase up to it, and gained stained glass roof lights, and the windows in Harry’s and Malfoy’s rooms seem to have widened a little, with cushions appearing on the deep windowsills to turn them into seats. Fortunately the house seems to have stretched the new curtains to match the new proportions. Furniture that has looked dusty and unpolished ever since Harry has inherited the place are becoming a bit more shiny, and he’s fairly sure it isn’t entirely Kreacher’s doing. 

Harry is in the living room contemplating if he can be arsed to do anything today. He had a bloody awful night’s sleep, giving up and relocating to the garden with a cup of tea at 5am, and now he isn’t sure there is enough coffee in the house to give him the enthusiasm to tidy. The Floo flares up in the room next door and Harry gets up and goes through to the more formal and rather dingy drawing room to see who it is. Ginny stands in front of the fire, breathing fast, looking around the room desperately as if she can find something amongst the collection of odd Black family Knick-knacks that will help her. “Gin?” ventures Harry cautiously, moving further into the room. Her eyes are red rimmed and she rubs at them, tears threatening to spill. “I just can’t . . . it’s all too . . .George . . . I just.” She’s still not fixing on any one thing, eyes flitting around the room and Harry walks slowly over and stands right in front of her. “I’m here, Gin. What do you need?” A shake of the head. “I, I can’t . . . it’s too . . . I feel like I can’t breathe, Harry. He’s so fucking sad.” She sobs, draws breath. “I feel like I’ve lost both of them, one gone, one broken.” Harry pulls her into his arms and kisses her hair, his tears spilling too. It is why he hasn’t been to the Burrow much, he feels that weight of grief there too. Here he can avoid it, displace it a little. Put it to one side for a day when he feels strong enough to deal with it. With so many Weasleys at home, there is always someone having a moment, breaking down. It doesn’t feel like there is a way to get respite from it when he’s there.

“It’s OK. You can stay here as long as you need. Does Molly know this is where you came?” Ginny nods and murmurs “A note.” Harry ushers her out of the room muttering about tea, and some time in the garden, and turns to push the slot on the little wooden board by the door to ‘indisposed’ to put the charms on the drawing room door. Visitors will be able to enter the room, but get no further, a bell sounding to let Harry know he has guests waiting. He turns and Ginny is walking down the hall, not towards the kitchen as he expected, but across to the stairs up to the first floor. She’s dropped her cardigan to the floor in the hall and Harry steps forward and picks it up. As he follows her up the stairs he retrieves the cotton printed scarf she was wearing in her hair, her sandals, her t-shirt, her denim skirt, dropped in a forlorn and silent path to his bedroom. 

He knows where this is going, they’ve been doing this a lot in the past 4 weeks. While their relationship before he left on the Horcrux hunt had been close, they’d not had sex then. Ginny felt she’d rushed things with Dean, losing her virginity to him soon after the start of their relationship, and while she didn’t regret it, she had sat Harry down shortly after that first kiss and said she wanted her and Harry to get to know each better ‘physically and emotionally’ before they ‘went the whole way’. They’d had their sneaky moments in disused classrooms, the Quidditch locker rooms, and in the closed off area of the greenhouses, when they could get away from Ron and Hermione, learning about each other’s bodies with hands and mouths. If they’d had a little more time before he had to go, it would probably have gone further.

On the night after the Battle Ginny had come searching for Harry, finding him huddled alone in an alcove off the 4th floor corridor, silent and shut down. She’d led him to a bedroom usually reserved for guest professors, having taken the key right out of Filch’s office, and they spent the night wrapped around each other, sleeping fitfully, and reassuring each other that they were alive, that it was over. When the sun came up in the early morning they’d has sex for the first time, Ginny taking control and riding him, them both taking comfort from the knowledge that they could still feel, were together, and were free. 

Since then whenever they are together, there has been a lot more of the same. They’ve not talked about it, but they both need it as much as each other and Harry is glad they can comfort each other physically as well as emotionally, that they can feel close and connected. He knows they aren’t the only ones, Ron and Hermione are at it like rabbits whenever they are staying over at his, and he’s pretty sure Neville and Luna are on the brink of it, if not there already. Padma and Goldstein have also got together, and he’s heard rumours from Seamus about Susan and Parvati. He guesses it is inevitable, his own parents did the same he supposes, and Molly and Arthur married in the shadow of war too, probably both Neville and Malfoy’s parents as well, when he comes to think about it.

When Harry reaches the bedroom door Ginny is sat on the edge of his bed, looking lost. Her bra is on the floor and she is sat only in her black knickers. He picks up the bra and adds it to his collection, depositing it on a chair. She looks up at him as he enters the room, she still looks unfocused, ungrounded, like she doesn’t quite know what to do with herself, or how she is supposed to fit in the world. Harry kneels down in front of her, nestling between her legs. He brushes back her hair from her face, “What do you need? How can I help?” Ginny looks at him properly for the first time now. “Tell me. I need you to . . ” she breaks off, then drops softly back onto the bed, her pale skin and red hair framed by the soft grey of the covers. 

Harry knows what she needs. He leans down and kisses the inside of her knee. “It’s over.” He whispers it against her skin and then kisses it again. “Tell me.” Another kiss. “We’re safe now.” He slides his left hand up the outside of her thigh and rests it on her hip, his head resting on her right leg, lips still pressed to her skin. She must be able to feel the words as much as hear them. “Tell me.” Harry likes that they have this give and take, that on some days Ginny can see his grief and dislocation and be there for him, and that other times, like today he can be there for her. “You are here, and I’m here.” Ginny’s voice is more insistent now: “Tell me.” Harry takes a breath to steady himself, Ginny needs him to own this, and he thinks that maybe he does too. “I ended it.” He asserts strongly but quietly. “We can have whatever future we want to have.” Ginny lets out the first small stifled sob and Harry kisses up her thigh, whispering ‘it’s over, we ended it, I ended it, they’re gone’ over and over, warm against her skin. 

As Harry nuzzles into the crease of the top of her leg, taking in her gentle scent, he can feel the sobs start to settle. He runs his right hand up Gin’s left leg and holds her hip there too, trying to ground her. He runs his lips over the black fabric of her underwear, his breath washing warmly across the skin above her clitoris. Ginny’s breath is speeding up now hitching slightly as Harry repeatedly tightens then loosens his hands on her hips. Ginny nudges at him with her knee and he takes the hint, backing away enough to pull off her knickers. He moves back in and kisses up the inside of her thigh again, this time on her left leg. This time he doesn’t stop, and kisses right across her clitoris, feather-light and down to her other thigh again. Ginny makes a small frustrated noise as he does the same again, working his way back across to her left thigh and down to her knee, never more than ghosting across her vulva with the lightest touch. He follows this track a few times, back and forth from leg to leg never quite enough, waiting. As Ginny moves to lift her head off the bed and look down at him he decides the moment is right, nudges her legs wider, leans forward and licks a broad flat stripe from her perineum up over her labia, clitoris and then carries on going to her lower abdomen. Ginny pushes out a high pitched noise and drops her half-lifted head back down, settling back and enjoying the sensation as Harry licks over her entrance again and again, applying even pressure with the flat of his tongue. Just when he judges it is getting too much again, from the way Gin is shifting and undulating away from and then back towards his tongue, Harry points his tongue and starts to lap at her folds, moving his attention from each side, back to the middle, then back out again. She seems to respond most to the pressure on her left side and he concentrates his attention there, drawing circles with his tongue then laving it up and down. “Fuck, yes. Just there.” Ginny whispers so Harry increases the speed and pressure, concentrating on licking ‘just there’. She’s teetering on the brink of orgasm, rolling her hips up to meet him, but he wants to draw it out a bit longer. Backing off, he blows gently and coolly over where he’s been licking, eliciting goosebumps and a shiver along with a hissed “you bastard” and a squeeze to his body from her thighs.

“Worth the wait, I promise.” he says quietly with a bit of a laugh in his voice as he leans forward again and covers Gin’s clit with his open mouth and sucks slowly and wetly. Ginny’s legs fall open again and she lets out a low groan. Harry is so fucking hard now, and wants more. He slides his index finger inside her and starts circling it round, applying gentle pressure on the downstroke down towards her perineum then crooking up towards her G-Spot on the upstroke, all the while sucking gently on her clit. When the groans get rhythmic and she starts rolling her hips again he brings his tongue into play on her clitoris, and slides a second finger in alongside the first. He’s almost snogging her clit now, tongue, lips, sucking and kissing, all the while fucking his fingers in and out. Christ he wishes he had a free hand to get himself off, but one is occupied in Ginny’s cunt and the other has a firm hold of her hip as she squirms and thrusts towards his mouth. He pulls back again but Ginny has no time to complain, as the pad of Harry’s thumb finds her clitoris, applies a firm pressure and she starts to steadily fuck herself onto his fingers, his thumb pressing and releasing against her clit as she does. He can feel her orgasm starting, fluttery motions of her cunt around his fingers as her hips get frantic, erratic. “Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, oh, fuck, oh, Merlin, Harry, Harry, Harry . . .” and then silence as she comes hard, breath held, curling in on herself, taut stomach muscles contracting. After a short amount of time she falls back down again, relaxed and pliant in a way she hadn’t been since she stepped in his house. 

“Fucking hell, Harry” she laughs as she tries to catch her breath. He allows himself a moment to feel a bit pleased with himself, he’s definitely getting good at reading Gin’s feedback, but mostly he is just incredibly hard, and needs to come. He slides his fingers out of Gin with a gentle wiggle and swipe of his thumb to her clit, which earns him a ‘fuck’ and a squirm and, locking eyes with Ginny who has propped herself up a little, sucks his fingers into his mouth. Then rushes to unbutton his trousers so he can get his hand on his cock. He doesn’t reckon it’ll take long. But, “Get naked. Up on the bed” commands Ginny breathlessly, still coming down from her orgasm. Harry scrambles to comply and as soon as he’s crawled onto the bed, clothes strewn hastily on the floor, Ginny takes hold of his cock and starts wanking him firmly while he’s still up on all fours, looking down at her. It’s hard and fast and perfect. He was right, he can feel his orgasm building swiftly, and as it crests he pushes into her hand and surges down to kiss her, coming with his groan muffled in her mouth, his come coating her hand, stomach and thigh.

* * * * * *

“Sorry” Gin turns her head towards Harry as they lie naked on his bed. At his perplexed look she clarifies, “Wandering in here and doing the naked crying thing.” Harry laughs and rolls over to look at her “It’s fine, Gin, you know that. Whatever you need, whatever I need. If we both agree, and we’re not hurting anyone, then it isn’t a problem.” Ginny nods but still looks a little uncertain. “I mean, it isn’t like you saw me do much objecting is it?” He asks cheekily and she laughs and pushes him. “It’s only been 4 weeks Gin, we’re both a mess, and it is going to take time. I mean, long term, shagging whenever we feel sad probably isn’t going to be the solution, however much my cock doesn’t want me to admit that, but for now it works. You’re here for me, I’m here for you, and we both feel better, for a bit.”

Ginny turns onto her side, facing Harry properly. “Yeah, I know. And it isn’t like there’s a queue of Mind Healers waiting to fix us all up.” Harry tucks a bit of her hair behind her ear, studying her face. “Yeah, I think they’ll have to train a few up, or import them” he agrees. It isn’t just them that needs rebuilding, almost all of magical Britain needs it too, people, businesses, buildings. And even with magic, that isn’t going to be fast, not with so many people dead or in self-imposed exile. It will take a while for those that left to trust enough to come back, if they ever come back at all. Britain’s magical community is depleted, and who knows how long it will take to fix it. To fix them. To fix him. To fix his magic. Harry rolls over onto his back. He has no idea how he can even be part of that rebuilding, with the way he is just now. He’s been so central to the whole thing, for as long as he’s been aware of the reality of magic, and now he doesn’t know how he fits anymore. Is he done? Is that it?

Harry’s vision is suddenly obscured, and he realises Ginny has thrown his t-shirt at him. He picks it off his face and pulls it over his head, then pulls it off again, turns it the right way out and pulls it back on. Ginny has got half way through dressing while he’s been staring at the ceiling and contemplating the fate of Britains’s magical diaspora. “A knut for your thoughts? You were miles away.” she says as she pulls her sandals back on, then Accio’s her headscarf to her. “Just thinking about how we all need a bit of time to fix ourselves. That there isn’t a quick fix. For anyone . . . for me.” He smiles ruefully “At least I had a Muggle upbringing, so not being able to use my magic for a while shouldn’t be too horrific, eh?” 

Gin grimaces, “Still no luck on the wand thing? Hermione said you had talked to Ollivander again, and Malfoy is still coming here to work on it with you, yeah? Although I’m still not sure you can trust the bastard.” Harry pulls on his jeans, stands up and walks over to Gin, leaning over and kissing her hair. “I have to though, don’t I? He gets his wand back out of it, so I think he’ll behave, just for that.” Ginny ‘hmmms’ noncommittally, “It is still fucked up though, I just wish Ollivander could just figure it out without involving anyone else. I worry for you, Harry.” Harry turns his back on Ginny, searching through his drawers for something to do, a way not to look her in the eye, he hates fudging his answers to her, “I know, Gin, but it is pretty complicated, the whole ending Voldemort with his wand thing, you know? Malfoy has to be involved, and maybe other people too, I don’t know yet, it needs more research.” Her arms snake around his waist, and he can feel her cheek resting between his shoulder blades “It’s OK Harry, you don’t have to explain, I’ve told you that. There is weirdness around your two wands and I really do trust that you know the best way to sort that out. I worry, of course I do, but I don’t need to know the details. That’s OK.” and doesn’t Harry just thinks that she is just one of the most brilliant people he knows, for this and so many other reasons? “To be honest, I have enough going on, in my _own_ life, in my _own_ head, without having to get into the minutiae of wandlore on _your_ behalf. Besides, that’s why you have Hermione as your best mate.” And isn’t that the truth, and that’s why he loves them both, and Ron too. They all trust each other enough to work together, without caring to step on each other’s toes.

As they head to the garden via the kitchen, Harry tries to distract them both with chat of the changes both he and Grimmauld Place itself have made to the house, and his plans for the next few days before Malfoy arrives.

* * * * * *

The drawing room door buzzes and vibrates to alert Potter to his arrival. And that irritates him from the off, that reminder of his guest status. It is the kind of power play his father would use, using access and status to make a point, without having to say anything. He’d not figured Potter as the kind to do that, but then Draco muses that maybe he should. To Draco it seems it has always been a case of either being in his tight knit gang, or being completely cut off. It figures that Potter would clearly place him on the outside of that circle, despite talk of bygones and working together. The longer he waits the more Draco works himself up over it, about how shit this whole situation is going to be. He’d been convincing himself over the past few days that this could be taken as a positive, that he could make something out of this situation. His mother’s worry at her limited knowledge of ‘just how this situation has come to pass, Draco?’ and concern for his wellbeing had served as a counterpoint to his own thoughts. As he had worked to convince her of the positives, even without being able to give too much detail away due to the privacy contract, he had managed to somewhat convince himself. Now, all that crumbles, as he waits trapped in this forsaken drawing room waiting on the largesse of Harry bloody Potter.

Draco eyes the ornate metal handle of the ‘call’ bell, but decides he refuses to acknowledge that he is at a disadvantage, refuses to give in and beg for admittance by ringing it. He sits, takes out his notebook and pencil and starts to sketch, nothing in particular, just little details of the room here and there. It calms him, to notice the details, to pick his surroundings apart. Just as he’s leant forward, examining the rather fine inlays on the coffee table, trying to work out which magical woods each piece is made of, the door bursts open, the Weasley girl running in whilst looking back over her shoulder and laughing, Potter close behind grabbing her as she crosses the threshold, spinning her and pushing her up against the door to kiss her. “Now _that_ is a proper goodbye. No fucking and running, Gin, it’s not polite” he says laughing as he pulls back. 

He looks up then towards the Floo and spots Draco who has stood up from his seat. Draco doesn’t feel like he knows quite where to look, he didn’t expect to be in the middle of this, and Potter flushes and looks embarrassed as all get out. The youngest Weasley on the other hand looks like she might burst out laughing any minute. “Fuck, Malfoy, sorry. I, um, we” He gestures between Ginevra and himself, she makes an undignified snort-laugh-cough sound, and Potter’s flush rises again on his skin “I, well, I didn’t hear the bell. I, um, lost track of time, and Kreacher is out getting shopping, otherwise he would have let you in.” Draco almost laughs too, here he had been fuming about Potter’s power play, when actually he was just getting his jollies. Lucky bastard. “I forgot to add you to the charm on this door, you’re on the house ones, but, um. I’ll get Kreacher to do it as soon as he’s back. Sorry.” He brushes his hand through his hair, seems to realise it is stuck up in all directions in a fairly clear ‘just shagged’ look, and tries to flatten it out. Draco catches Weasley’s eye and she snorts again. 

She pushes her body upright away from where she is leaning on the door and Draco is, he’s embarrassed to admit to himself, a little of envious of the obvious core strength she has from hours of flying, “I’ll be going so you can show Malfoy to his room. Now we’ve said a _proper_ goodbye.” She kisses Potter on the cheek and walks across the room to the Floo and as Draco steps aside to let her past she stops right next to him and whispers “I will give you a chance, because he’s asked me to, but do be aware Malfoy: you have no-one and there are an army of us, and we would not hesitate to _end_ you.” She says it with a light tone, an almost smile on her face, but Draco is very certain that she means every word. It isn’t a formal challenge, or empty posturing, it is just a simple truth. “I am _entirely_ aware of my situation, thank you, Miss Weasley.” he replies quietly and formally, she nods and grabs some Floo powder and throws it down into the flames. Draco doesn’t think Potter was close enough to hear Weasley’s words, but he surely caught the tone as, when he holds out his hand to take one of Draco’s bags, he offers a mutter about them all “being very protective of one another, these days” with a slightly apologetic look on his face. ‘As if they ever weren’t’ thinks Draco with an eye roll behind Potter’s back.

* * * * * *

It is a light and airy room, with some beautiful antique furniture, walnut he thinks, and although it has clearly seen better days it is clean and quite welcoming. Draco had wondered where he would be placed, imagining maybe the servant’s quarters, or some other out of the way space, but his room seems to be one of the main ones in the house. The pale sage green of the bedlinen is rather charming, and calming, and as he glances around he appreciates that no little effort has been made to make him feel comfortable. His mother had heard this house was a mess still filled with dark artefacts, no small part of her worry about him being here, but that certainly isn’t the case in here. He takes in the towels, mirror, the slightly open wardrobe door which shows it to be full with white painted hangers, and the room smells faintly of lemon. He thinks it is the same polish the Manor elves use. Used. It is certainly better than the Ministry shithole he’s been in for the past nearly 5 weeks, pre and post his hearing at the Wizenmagot. 

“I” his voice cracks a little, and Draco chastises himself, he will not get choked up because Potter bought him coathangers, if it even was Potter who bought them. He tries again, “I appreciate your hospitality, Potter. The room is charming, and will do quite well during my time here.” Potter slants him a look out of the corner of his eye, tilting his head slightly. Draco tries again “I wonder if I might trouble you to ask your elf to show me any other rooms I might have access to, and which are the private apartments.” Fucking. Hell. Why has he suddenly come over all 18th century Parson, next he’ll be asking Potter if he can ‘take a turn in the gardens’ or requesting smelling salts! He curses his upbringing for this reflexive reversion to formality when he feels uncomfortable, out of his depth. 

Potter gives him another quizzical look “No need to ‘trouble’ Kreacher, Malfoy, I’ll give you the tour” and with that he lopes out of the door, starting to talk as he goes “that’s my room, don’t go in there,” he opens the door though, and Draco gets glimpses of white painted furniture and grey linens, not at all as garish as he had imagined ”and this is the bathroom, and that small room is a separate toilet. We’ll have to share the bathroom, I’m going to put bathrooms in each of these rooms, but I haven’t had a chance yet. I figured I could knock through from this one to my room, and extend the alcove in yours and box it in. It is a bit beyond Kreacher, and I haven’t wanted to bother Hermione with it. She’s the whizz with extension charms, but maybe once I’ve got my magic a bit more stable I’ll have a go.” Draco is trailing behind Potter, watching him gesture around him as he walks, not waiting to see if Draco is following. “That’s a staircase up to the attics, which is quite handy as I think converting them into some proper rooms would be nice. The staircase just appeared last week,” he clarifies, looking over his shoulder “but there is nothing up there just now.”

* * * * * *

Potter jogs down the stairs, taking them two at a time, and Draco follows more sedately. He feels like he should be making polite appreciative comments, like he has seen his mother do on countless occasions when society matrons have had open houses. He remembers trailing round after her as a child, as she made perfectly crafted statements on the delicacy of filigree, the fineness of embroidery, or the quality of an oil painting. The comments were always calculated to flatter the host, whilst also showcasing her own taste and knowledge. He doubts Potter would know what filigree was if it bit him. 

Potter flings open doors to other slightly smaller bedrooms, these ones with dark wood furniture, and plain white bedlinen. “These aren’t used all the time, but when Ron and Hermione come to stay, or anyone really, then these will be used. So don’t go in if someone is staying, but otherwise . . . “ he shrugs. “That one is the master suite. I haven’t even thought about going in there yet. There is all sorts of stuff that is probably got curses coming out of it left, right and centre, so avoid that.” Potter waves his hand down the corridor, “another bathroom” and then flings open further doors on the next floor as he continues “library, feel free to use that Hermione says it is quite extensive, although doesn’t really have anything published after the 20s, the formal drawing room you’ve seen, that’s the only Floo operational at the moment’ Potter throws open another door and continues his monologue “a slightly more comfy living room,” although Potter wrinkles his nose here, “the dining room, again feel free, I usually eat in the kitchen though as it is pretty rubbish in there, and that’s a cloakroom and toilet.” He trots down the stairs to the basement kitchen and points at a cupboard door “That’s Kreacher’s, I’ve offered him a bedroom, but he refuses. Ask before you go in there, of course. The kitchen, well, you’ve been in here before. Help yourself to anything you like, and just ask Kreacher if you want something specific getting.” Potter is looking at him earnestly now, “Anything, I mean it. Just help yourself to food, and books, and whatever. Just, make yourself at home, don’t feel like you need to ask to go in a room, or decorate your room, or take food or whatever.” It seems to be really important to Potter that he understands he has the run of the place, Draco wonders whether maybe he’s worrying about him feeling like ‘family’ so that this whole wand lending thing can work. He’s staring at him still with that serious look in place, so Draco nods, and whispers his somewhat stilted and formal thanks.

* * * * * *

“Well, I think that’s everything, so I’ll leave you to it.” Malfoy looks up, looking a little confused. “Leave me to what, Potter?” They’ve wandered back up to the main hallway at this point, and Harry, grabs his jacket from the adjacent cloakroom and starts pulling it on. “Getting settled in.” Malfoy looks startled to Harry, although he’s covering it pretty well. “I . . .you . . . I . . .are you going somewhere?” he stumbles. “Yeah, I’m going to meet up with Hermione for a coffee, in a cafe nearby. I thought, well, I thought you’d maybe want to settle in without me breathing down your neck. I’ll probably just hover over you if I’m here, which would be annoying, so I’ll go out for an hour-ish, you can get your things moved in, have a look around and stuff. Kreacher should be back in 45 minutes or so, so if you have anything you want put away in longer term storage then just ask him to do it. There’s a storage room in the basement near the kitchen, it doesn’t have a visible door just now to stop people accidentally getting in, I’ve been putting all the weird, um, I mean _unusual_ old Black family stuff in there, to check through later, but Kreacher says there is plenty of space if you have furniture you want to bring, or more trunks or anything you don’t want to potentially damage with a shrinking charm.”

“I, thank you.” Malfoy is blushing and not meeting his eye, but then takes a breath, and looks up. “That won’t be necessary, Potter, the bags and trunk I left in the drawing room are all I have at present.” He coughs, “The Manor is, that is the Ministry has . . .” His sentence peters out. Harry feels a wave of secondhand embarrassment, he knows how this feels, grew up with it in fact, only having a handful of possessions, nothing of particular worth, and cut off from any family heirlooms. Only having small space to call his own, grudgingly carved out of someone else’s home. He looks away, not wanting to make it any more awkward. “OK, well, if that changes in the future, the offer will still stand.” Harry shifts from foot to foot, shoves his hands in his pockets and takes them back out again. Malfoy is standing with perfect posture, and if Harry hadn’t watched him for quite literally _years_ then he could easily think he was entirely at ease. “I’ll go, you do whatever you need to do. It’s steak pie for dinner, hope that’s OK?” Malfoy nods, hesitates, and then turns and makes his way to the drawing room to retrieve his trunk and bag. Harry watches to make sure he gets back out of the room OK, and then opens the front door and heads out to meet Hermione.

* * * * * *

“Why did you want to leave him there alone, though?” Hermione asks, as she presses her finger to the plate in front of her, picking up the last crumbs of fruit scone on the finger tip before transferring them to her mouth. Her eating habits are a little different now, Harry has noticed, not quite Ron-like in his need to consume everything, but their year on the run has left an impression. Nothing is to be wasted. “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think it is a problem, Harry, we locked your house down like Fort Knox, so it isn’t like he can _do_ anything, but won’t he feel a bit uncomfortable, there all on his own? I thought you wanted him to feel welcome, like it was his home? You need him to feel like some sort of family, don’t you?” Harry puts his tea cup down and thinks it over. It had kept him awake most of last night, thinking this over. “I tried to think about how I felt in the same situation.” At Hermione’s eyebrow raise he cuts her off before she can ask the question. “There are a lot of parallels, Mi, you see. Living somewhere away from family, but with ‘family’” He air quotes the second ‘family’ “needing to be in the situation you are in because you need the magic to recognise your family protection, excluded from Wizarding society, without many possessions, reliant on the charity of your host.” He spins his cup round, looks up and Hermione’s eyes look a little wet. After everything they’ve been through it is his childhood, possibly second only to his solo walk into the forest, that is the thing that seems to rouse her sympathy towards him most. 

Hermione squeezes his hand, and he continues “The times when I was alone, could wander round without fear of being stopped, restricted, hated, those were the times I felt most at home at Privet Drive. I would wander when the Dursleys were out, or in the middle of the night, just sit in the living room, look in the kitchen cupboards. I’d pick up the ornaments, and use the fancy hand soap in the bathroom. I felt more like I belonged there in those moments than any other time. I need Malfoy to feel at home, and trusted too, but also . . .” he hesitates, because he doesn’t know if this next bit makes him sound like a right wanker, but it had felt right when he’d puzzled it out at 3am “I think I need that not just for the wandlore stuff. I think I need it for me? Like,“ he huffs, scrubs his hands over his hair “I need to show I know how to do this better than they did, put it right, rebalance things? I don’t know how to describe it Mi, does any of this make sense?” Hermione breaths out slowly with a slightly shakey breath “Yes, total sense. What they did was entirely wrong, Harry, they were grudging with every little thing, jealous, mean, and unkind without a single thought for your wellbeing, for what you were going through.” She wipes her eyes with her paper napkin, “I think the fact that you feel able to do better, want to do better when in a similar situation is amazing. Especially given your, our, history with Malfoy.”

“Fuck history, Hermione.” He takes a big bite of his own scone, enjoying the sweetness of the jam with the richness of the cream, he looks around the Muggle cafe, quiet on a mid-week day and entirely unaware of the momentous events of just a few weeks ago. They are sat in a corner, both angled so they can see the lay of the room. “I’m all about fresh starts right now. I just hope Malfoy is too.” 

On that note he tries to change the subject, glancing over at the waiter who has been cleaning already clean tables, and glancing their way repeatedly. “I think the waiter fancies you, Mi, he looked well pissed off when you held my hand. I think he was hoping he was in with a chance.” This makes Hermione laugh, which was Harry’s aim. He knows she is head over heels for Ron, with eyes for no one else, and she glances over and the waiter flashes her a flirtatious smile before turning back to the counter. He’s tall and lightly muscled, with sandy hair and beautiful bone structure. “Hmm, not my type,” she whispers, leaning forward towards Harry. She glances again, twisting slightly to eye his bum as he leans to place dirty dishes on the counter, “in fact more yours, I’d say, looks the athletic type.” Harry glances over and considers the thought “Nah, too tall for me, I’d constantly be getting a crick in my neck” Hermione dissolves into giggles, which Harry thinks is one of the most beautiful sounds he’s heard in a while, excluding the ones he got out of Ginny this morning, and they gather their things to leave still laughing, their change left on the table for a tip. The waiter watches with a slightly wistful look on his face as they go.

* * * * * *

Draco can’t quite believe he’s sat here alone in the library of Harry Potter’s house. Alone in the whole house. It is difficult to fathom the random series of events that have brought him to this point, and he doesn’t suppose it helps any from this point forward anyway. So just over a month ago he was living with the villain of the piece, and now he is living with the hero. Does it matter though in the scheme of things? All he can do is take this one day at a time and hope for the best, he’s done planning, he thinks. He’s all for trying serendipity and chance for a while instead. Planning and plotting didn’t work out too well, for him, his father or the Dark Lord.

Draco realises he isn’t even scared. He’s worn terror almost constantly for the past two years, like a cloak covering his every moment sleeping and waking. While this situation is unsettling, he realises he doesn’t fear it. His bar is set rather high for that now, and living in Potter’s house doesn’t seem enough to trigger it. He hears a crack from the kitchen and, since he’s already had a nosy round all the other public rooms, and studiously ignored the private ones, he decides to go and investigate the tea and biscuit selection in the kitchen, now that it seems Kreacher is home. Home. And isn’t that a strange thought? 

He idly wonders if Potter has any teacups left, or if he’ll have to magic one up. He hopes not, the porcelain never feels quite right on the conjured ones, he finds.

* * * * * *


	3. Silver linings and inlaid charm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malfoy is driving him insane. He’s the most buttoned up Harry has ever seen, and it is infuriating in a whole new way. He’d thought he had an idea how this would go, they’d shout, they’d snark, maybe even throw punches, but eventually they would come to some sort of understanding, but Malfoy is giving him nothing, _nothing_ to work with.
> 
> Will they figure out how to get along?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah, I’m verbose. Sorry. I do go on.
> 
> Also, sorry for the irrelevant and obscure 90s UK TV references. I would have been in the Weasley twins’ year at Hogwarts agewise (if this was all real) so this era is my childhood.

* * * * * *

Draco wasn’t sure how he was going to get through this. Being here in Potter’s home feels like being around a Hippograf, and heaven knows that hadn’t gone well for him in the past. He’s trying to keep himself to himself mostly, and keep the rest of his interactions polite and professional, but it is wearing him down, somewhat. 

He feels like he should have this, easily. He spent so long in the company of the Dark Lord, guarding his every word, his every thought, that surely he has the practice now. And here he doesn’t even have to employ Occulmency for fear of a sneak intrusion from Bellatrix, or even the Dark Lord himself as he had at the Manor. He had been grateful for the lessons his mother had provided when he was younger. The Blacks generally had an affinity for Occulmency and Legilmency, and while it was very useful, it had nearly come and bitten him on the arse a few times, when Bella first came to stay. He learnt to shield himself quickly.

Putting yourself on guard, Draco thinks, is considerably easier when the people you are guarding against are magically powerful homicidal maniacs, rather than a young man in ratty jeans asking him if he’d like a cup of tea, or a game of chess. Or sometimes insulting him, before catching himself and backtracking. Potter is trying to engage him, and Draco just really really doesn’t know what to do with it. This isn’t how they interact, this isn’t their dynamic, and it just feels wrong. And all the while trapped within the walls of this shabby mess of a house.

* * * * * *

Malfoy is driving him insane. He’s the most buttoned up Harry has ever seen, and it is infuriating in a whole new way. He’d thought he had an idea how this would go, they’d shout, they’d snark, maybe even throw punches, but eventually they would come to some sort of understanding, but Malfoy is giving him nothing, _nothing_ to work with. He has tried polite engagement, trying to be a good host, make Malfoy feel at home. He’s tried to engage him in decisions about what food to get, offered to play games of chess (which he knows he would lose), asked him about the plants in the garden in relation to their use in potions in the hope that would bring him out of his shell, but _nothing_. And doesn’t that just defeat the whole purpose of him being here? This new Malfoy is unnerving: polite, restrained, quiet, seemingly without much of an opinion on anything, and while Harry doesn’t doubt that War has changed Malfoy, he knows it has changed him, he is certain it hasn’t changed him this much. The question is, how the fuck is he going to get through to the real Malfoy?

* * * * * *

“So you are pissed off with him being nice and quiet?” asks Ginny, eyebrow raised. 

“No better Malfoy than a silent Malfoy, if you ask me” interjects Ron. 

Hermione walks into the room at the tail end of his sentence, a stack of pizza boxes levitating in front of her, “ask you what, Ron?” Harry picks the top box off the floating pile and peaks inside, handing it to Ginny. 

“About Malfoy, I was just saying he’s unnaturally quiet, I’m having a hard time talking to him.” He sets the second box to one side, and passes the third and fourth to Ron and Hermione, after a quick check inside, “he’s being really weird, not like himself at all, and he won’t talk to me at all.” 

Ron waves a piece of pizza in the air, ‘clinking’ it with a slice Harry is has just taken from the fifth box, calling out “Win!” then taking a big bite.

“Well, not really. If we’re not talking, we can’t get the wand thing sorted can we?” Harry feels despondent. The lack of daily magic is getting to him now, he can feel it coursing through him, but still can’t direct it well. The casual use of magic by his friends is starting to irritate him, he knows it is ridiculous, and they try and make his life easier by helping him when he needs it, but even seeing Hermione levitate the pizzas in just now had left him pissed off, and then he feels even more pissed off at himself for feeling pissed off. 

“You’re going to have to force the issue, Harry, you’ve been tiptoeing around it, “ Harry starts to protest but Hermione holds up her hand “ _entirely_ reasonably, but that isn’t working, so time to change tactic.” She nods in the direction of the pizza box that Harry had placed on one side, “Do you want me to . . . ?” She asks while casting a warming charm at the box. 

“Thanks, you’re a star, Mi.”

* * * * * *

Draco is hungry, and can smell something delicious wafting up from downstairs, but he can hear the horde of Gryffindors and can’t bear the thought of the uncomfortable combination of small talk and micro-aggression he’ll get from them. He wonders if Potter will notice if he summons Kreacher to his room to ask for food. He’s been avoiding using the elf wherever possible, although he’s not quite sure why, although it does feel a tad over familiar to be using someone else’s elf for personal business. There is a tap at his door, which startles him, and he rises to answer it. He opens the door a crack, expecting to see Potter or Kreacher but Granger is stood there with a flat carboard box, which is radiating heat and the delicious smell. It has tiny Italian flags printed on it, and Draco suddenly remembers a family holiday from years ago, to a Malfoy cousins’ cliff top house somewhere in Italy. He must have eaten his own seven year old body weight in buffalo mozzarella that week. 

“We’re having pizza,” Granger supplies, waving the box a little “Harry ordered you one, thought you might be hungry. It is from a place down the street, proper little old school Italian. It’s really good.” Draco goes to reach for it, murmuring a quiet ‘thanks’, but Granger pulls it away a little before he can make contact, “You could come and eat downstairs, with the rest of us? We’ve got some butterbeer, or some fizzy Italian fruit drinks, if you’d prefer?” 

Draco can feel himself flushing, “No thank you, Granger, I’m perfectly happy to eat here. Please give Potter my thanks for the meal.” He grasps the box and pulls it towards him, turning and shutting the door. He stands holding it with his back leant against the door listening, his heart thudding. There is no noise for a few seconds then slow steps back down the stairs. 

Draco goes to put away the papers on his desk, he’d been writing to Mother. She leaves in a couple of days for her exile, and although she is optimistically referring to it as ‘wintering on the continent’, Draco can tell she is concerned, both for herself and for him. He wishes he could reassure her more. 

As Draco finishes tidying with a flick of his obstinate wand, he hears a bump at his door. At first he thinks it is Granger again, but then the bump happens again and again, low down and persistent. He opens the door to find a metal tin floating at knee height. When he reaches down to retrieve it he sees the words “Aranciata Rossa” across the front. He bumps the door closed with his hip and deposits the pizza box and blood orange juice on the desk, when he opens it up he sees the pizza is a white one, with slices of potato, onion, some garlic, mozzarella, and a sprinkling of rosemary. As he eats a slice he recalls that he had told Potter that rosemary was one of his favourite herbs the other day, when Potter had tried to engage him in a conversation about the plants in his abomination of a garden.

* * * * * *

“So like the Open University, then?” questions Hermione, and Ginny looks at her blankly. 

Harry laughs, and tries to explain “It is quite similar to what you are describing, Gin, it might be a good thing to look at to give you some ideas to take to McGonagall. It’s a Muggle thing. It is a Uni, but without a building. Like most Uni’s and schools have a physical location, like Hogwarts, but the OU doesn’t. You can do a degree from anywhere, and you phone in each week to talk to your tutor, I think, and sometimes meet up with other people on your course, and send in work you have done to be marked. It means people who are working, or caring for kids or family can do a degree, and people can do it from a distance, or part time, and you can build up the kind of degree you want, by putting together different combinations of things that work for you. They make some cool TV programmes too.” Hermione looks at him trying, unsuccessfully, to hide her slight surprise. “One of the caretakers at my primary school was doing a degree with them,“ he shrugs “I would go and help him out with odd jobs in his storeroom when Dudley was being a shit to me, he would sometimes have the coursework lying around and talked to me about it. He wanted to be a journalist.”

Ginny looks thoughtful, “So, people pick and choose?” she’s waving a pizza crust slightly, gazing into the distance as she thinks. 

“Yeah, I think so, within reason, like probably not particle physics and, I dunno, fine art, but related subjects that make sense together.” 

Hermione leans forward, “I think it would be a really good model to follow, Ginny, I can help you look out some information on it and then you could take it to McGonagall. It gives you everything you need, you get to go and start training professionally, but you get to continue your education too. You don’t lose out on the opportunity to do your NEWTS, or maybe even a Mastery in something later, part time.” 

Harry chimes in, “And not just you, I think loads of people are going to be wanting to get stuck into work, rebuilding family businesses, earning to help try and rebuild their family lives, but they shouldn’t miss out. It is a really great idea, Gin.” Gin gives him a smile, and then turns to Hermione as she excitedly adds something about possible course modules.

“Out of the two of them I never thought it would be Ginny creating a new educational system,” Ron laughs.

“Nah, me either” Harry looks over at Ginny, and loves what he sees on her face, and the way she is holding herself as she chats to Hermione. She seems animated, excited and Harry hopes this gives her something to look forward to, to concentrate on for the future. 

“Are you two OK?” And Harry turns to look at Ron, surprised, but with the smile from looking at Gin still on his face. Ron shifts a bit in his seat, “Just, I thought you wanted to go back to Hogwarts, when ‘Mione mentioned they were thinking of re-doing our year you seemed like you wanted to go and do that?” 

Harry glances back at Ginny, who is now writing notes on a piece of parchment while Hermione talks and gestures, “I do mate, I have no clue what I want to do yet, or what I’m even capable of, so I’d love a bit of time to figure it out. I mean,” he plays with the pizza box in front of him, opening and closing the lid repetitively, “I’m kind of scared, I guess, going back there that the bad memories will be too much? But also I have loved my time there, and it’s private too. If I’m out in the real world, I’ll have everyone all over me all the time. I know McGonagell will protect me from that crap. If the Prophet gets anywhere near she’ll probably just Incendio their cameras and notebooks on sight!” 

He pauses, and looks up at Ron, “And I figure the memories are inside me. Wherever I go, wherever we all go, they’ll be there. So I might as well be somewhere safe, with people who can help me with my fucked up magic. It is either that or St Mungo’s.” 

Ron looks stricken, “Don’t even joke about it, mate.” He glances over at Ginny and Hermione. “I just thought it would be all four of us, you know, finally. But you are really pushing her with this distance learning idea. I thought you’d be trying to get her to come back to Hogwarts, persuading her to wait a year before she takes up her training placement. It is only a year.” 

Harry stacks the boxes up, and nods at Ron to encourage him to Vanish them. “It’s what she wants, Ron, more than that it’s what she needs. This offer for a placement with the Magpies is amazing, although without the war she would have probably been offered it last year. She can’t turn it down, it would be mad to. If she gets to play with the Magpies, even just in a couple of minor games, or just as a sub, then she could get spotted by another team for a proper starting spot. It is everything to her, and she knows what she wants, and she has the skills to get it. I’m really proud of her, especially the way she is working out how she can carry on studying too. She wants to get a bit of Healer’s training, some management training, some sports coaching skills, imagine how great a player she is going to be once she has all that under her belt. And like you say, it is only a year, then we’ll be out there too, doing what we want to do.” Harry isn’t quite as optimistic on his own future as that statement makes him sound, but he’s sure of his pronouncements on Ginny. He’s never known anyone as determined and singleminded, he knows that now Gin has decided this is what she wants that she’ll go for it wholeheartedly, and likely succeed.

* * * * * *

As Draco descends into the kitchen, the morning after his solo pizza feast, he sees Potter stood at the worktop putting the finishing touches to a cup of tea, and from the slight turn of Potter’s head, he knows he’s been heard. It is too late to turn round, so he walks in, and takes a cup down from the cupboard. Potter waves the teapot at him in question and Draco nods. Good. Not talking, he can do not talking. Draco adds milk and a spot of sugar, and is about to turn and leave when he hears Potter take in a deep breath and then blow it out. Ah. Fuck. He prepares himself, and sure enough: “Malfoy, we need to talk.”

And talk they do, Draco thinks Potter has been working himself up to this, as it all comes tumbling out without pause: his rambling thoughts on his need for them to spend time together and start work on the wand transfer, his desire to make Draco ‘feel at home’, his discomfort with how Draco has been behaving (and doesn’t Draco just resent that, as he’s been being the epitome of a polite houseguest), and a need to ‘move forward’. 

“What can I do, Malfoy, I need you to fucking work with me on this?” 

And there is something Malfoy has been considering, in the dead of night when he’s been avoiding sleep. “I was wondering, Potter, if I could have a guest here for lunch?” And of the things he could have said, he thinks this is one Potter wasn’t expecting. 

“Well, yes, I guess.” He replies immediately, before following up quickly with “well, I mean, it depends of course. Who?” 

Draco can see visions of Parkinson, Nott, Goyle, Zabini, float across Potter’s thoughts, even without the aid of Legilmency. “My Mother, Potter. She is concerned as to my wellbeing, particularly while I am staying here, and I think it would put her mind at rest to see me in situ. She leaves the day after tomorrow, so I would be grateful if she could come for lunch, with us both, see that I’m not in any immediate danger. So today or tomorrow?”

* * * * * *

Harry could kick himself, why hadn’t he thought to invite Mrs Malfoy before? If he’s trying to make Malfoy feel at home then of course he should be able to invite guests, although the thought of Parkinson sat in the drawing room drinking his tea isn’t the most pleasant of thoughts. Mrs Malfoy scares the shit out of him, if he’s being honest with himself. I mean, not Voldemort levels of scary, but anyone who isn’t scared to straight up lie to one of the most powerful wizards and Legilmens of all time is pretty fierce in his book. But he’s also Malfoy’s mother, and she’s about to get exiled. 

He thinks he’s a fucking idiot for not considering it before now, and now there is hardly any time left before she’s gone. “How about today and tomorrow? She could come round for lunch today, and tomorrow too if you want. I can get out of your way though, I don’t have to be there, I don’t want to intrude.” 

Malfoy’s face does a weird twist, as if he’s warring with himself, trying to chew his own words off his tongue. “I’d rather you were there, at least for the first visit. That way she can see that we’re being civil, that I’m safe. She’s obviously confused about what the hell is going on, and is consequently worried about my safety here. If we can all sit down together, then that should go some way to reassuring her.” 

Malfoy opens his mouth, and then closes it, looks down at his feet while huffing out a breath, and then raises his eyes to Harry’s a resolute look on his face. “I’ll need you to OK it with the Ministry. She isn’t allowed out of her accommodation, except with Ministry permission, and they won’t take a request from either myself or her.” 

Harry stomach flips. “Were they going to let you see her before she went?” 

Malfoy’s face is like stone. “Yes. For 5 minutes, at the Ministry Portkey station. Under Auror guard.” 

Harry tries to catch Malfoy’s eye, but he does a good job of evading it. “I’ll get on to Kingsley immediately. I’m sure we can work something out. I’ll go and owl him now, see if I can go meet him.” 

He tries again to catch Malfoy’s eye, raises a hand unthinkingly as if to squeeze Malfoy’s shoulder, then drops it when he realises what he’s about to do. He leaves the room to go and write a note to the Minister, hoping he’s got time to fit him into his schedule.

* * * * * *

Draco fears he might wear a hole in the already threadbare carpet with the amount of pacing he’s doing. He feared Potter might not go for the idea, but he’d jumped at it, and now he is kicking himself with how little time he has left Potter to get it all organised. If only he had mentioned it days ago, he could have possible seen his mother more.

Potter had popped his head into the library a short while ago, saying he had secured a meeting with Kingsley in a short while. The Minister is busy with meetings, but he’ll ‘fit Harry in as soon as he can’. Of course. Potter was going into the Ministry to see a few people until it was time for his meeting, then he’ll Floo back and let Draco know the arrangements as soon as he has them. Draco thinks he might go out of his mind in the meantime. “Stop fucking pacing, Malfoy” he hisses to himself and falls back into the wingback armchair nearest to him. He pulls his sketchbook out of his pocket and looks around for something to concentrate on, something to draw or take notes on. Something to help quieten his mind until Potter returns.

* * * * * *

“Malfoy?” Harry walks out of the Floo and dusts himself off. It had taken a while, but he’d finally found a few minutes in Kingsley’s schedule to ask him about having Mrs Malfoy round, and had got the answer he wanted. He had been offered a chat with various other heads of departments instead, but had insisted on Kingsley. Harry still didn’t feel like he knew who to trust at the Ministry, who would pass a message on, or who would just conveniently ‘lose’ it, and in this particular situation they didn’t have the time for playing games. 

“Malfoy?” he calls again. He can hear thumps and rustling from the library and pops his head round the door, ready to see Kreacher in the middle of some underenthusiastic but yet performative cleaning and instead what he sees is the furniture all dragged out of place, the curtains down and piled in a heap on the floor, and Malfoy on all fours with his arse in the air, staring at the wall from all of a few centimetres away. “What the fuck, Malfoy?” Malfoy swivels his head round towards Harry and he has a a kind of monocle magnifying glass type thing over his right eye, reminding Harry weirdly of Patrick Moore from GamesMaster. Dudley used to watch it even after he had supposedly grown out of his computer game phase and Harry would stand in the hallway and watch through the crack of the hinge when he could. 

“Do you realise this is original de Gendt, Potter?” He asks, apropos of absolutely nothing as far as Harry can see. 

“What is a what?” he replies somewhat stupidly, a lot more confused than he would like. He thought he knew what he was coming back to here, and now he’s completely thrown. 

“De Gendt, Potter. He was revolutionary in his time, but he fell out of fashion just as quickly as he entered it. Most houses got rid rather quickly as the fashions changed and replaced him with something by Bardet or the Yates’ even, but I suppose the Blacks were often rather unmoveable once they had decided on something.” 

Harry continues to stare at Malfoy. There are words coming out of the man’s mouth, they appear to be English, but he really has no clue what he’s going on about. “The Yates’?” He asks, rather stupidly again, and he feels it isn’t really fair that he’s having to seem so dense when Malfoy has dropped him in the middle of a conversation that he’s clearly been having with himself for most of the morning. He strives for more clarity “Why have you destroyed my library? And why are you staring at my walls, and looking like you are waiting to have a conversation with Dominik Diamond?” 

Malfoy sits back on his heels and removes his monocle. Harry’s glad, his lopsidedly enlarged eye was beginning to give him the creeps. “Diamond?” asks Malfoy in a tone that Harry is pretty sure matches the one had used when he had asked about the Yates’ a few seconds ago. At least he’s not the only one who is confused now. 

“The library Malfoy?” Harry waves his hands around to indicate the absolute mess of the room and Malfoy looks around him for the first time, blinking and looking a little confused to see the room in such disarray. 

“The wallpaper” he offers, “It is original de Gendt. The charms have degraded, which is why it isn’t working” and this confuses Harry, because how exactly does wallpaper ‘work’? It is stuck to the walls which seems a big qualification in it’s favour, as far as Harry is concerned. Malfoy continues, as if he isn’t talking complete bollocks, “But those can probably be reset. All the original design work is still here, and the colours can probably be revived to close to the original, especially as this part that has been behind the writing desk the whole time seems almost entirely unfaded.” He looks around the room again, “I took down the curtains to let in more light, but don’t worry I’ve put a stasis charm over this bit, so it shouldn’t fade.”

* * * * * *

Potter is gaping at him in a somewhat moronic fashion, as Draco gets to his feet, but then he seems to recover and gives a little laugh, “It’s OK, Malfoy, I’m not worried.” He looks around seemingly in wonder. “Have you been pulling apart this room the whole time I’ve been at the Ministry?” 

The Ministry. Draco feels his stomach drop and he looks directly at Potter, then drops his eyes to his hands where he has started turning his magnifier over and over in his hands. 

“You met with the Minister?” He both wants to hear and doesn’t want to hear at the same time, his insides are twisting with anxiety. 

“Yes, I saw him, eventually, and he’s agreed to your Mother visiting here pretty much as much as she wants over the next two days.” Potter’s voice is gentle, he is trying to be kind, Draco can tell, “She’ll have to be back at her flat for 10 each night, and needs to stay at home until quarter past 8 in the morning as the Auror shift changes at 8, but beyond that, she’ll be able to be here as much as you want.” 

Draco lets out a whoosh of breath and sits down heavily in the desk chair next to him. He can feel the tears pricking at his eyes, can feel his hands shaking, and sees Potter look away, trying to pretend he hasn’t seen Draco’s weakness, his relief. 

“I’ll go and let Kreacher know we have a guest for lunch. Is there anything she prefers? I can have him make whatever she’d like, if she has any favourites?” He hesitates at the door, giving Draco a moment to reply. “Mushroom soup, wild mushroom soup. And some sandwiches, on white bread, and some cakes if he can, she likes pretty much anything with almonds.” 

The food at the Ministry residence has been bleak. His mother had made the most of it, with his help, but it had been basic at best. He hopes it will be better in her exile, that she’ll have more freedom to chose as she pleases there.

* * * * * *

Narcissa Malfoy for lunch. OK. He can do this. Malfoy and Malfoy at his table. At least it wasn’t Malfoy, Malfoy and Malfoy. Small mercies. Kreacher is bustling round the kitchen, muttering “Miss Black, at our table, happy day, Bakewells, marzipan” and appearing tiny delicacies from the larder, cupboards and oven. Harry isn’t ever sure he has seen so many tiny crustless sandwiches all in one place, or in fact ever. 

Harry decides to go to the dining room and see if he can do much to improve the unrelenting bleakness in there. He did notice the last time he was in there that the wall sconces now worked, and he had wondered at the time if Malfoy’s presence was causing Kreacher to become a little more houseproud. Now, thinking back over the last while that the other man has been in residence here, and with the evidence of this morning’s wallpaper excitement, Harry is starting to suspect Malfoy himself of this and other small upgrades. Those he has noticed have all been minor, a clean here, a straighten there to get things in working order again. Nothing that would need much in the way of powerful magic, or precise control, nothing that changes or damages anything, and they have all been in evidence in the mornings, as if done overnight. He wonders if maybe Malfoy manages to get as little sleep as he does.

* * * * * *

Draco has run Potter through their cover story again. It is a variation of the one they will be giving to the wider world, if needed. It feels easier to have all their obfuscation aligning, so as not to get themselves confused. 

“Again. I am here because the Ministry wanted me to have a minder. You, as one of my main defenders in court, were asked if you would step into the role. They thought someone who already knew intimately of my misdemeanours and who was of an age with me would be best. You, being the do-gooder with a hero complex that you are, agreed.” 

Potter groans and rucks up his hair with both hands, 

“Do we have to include that? It makes me sound like such a sanctimonious arse.” 

“You are a sanctimonious arse, Potter.” At Potter’s glare he acquiesces “Or at least Granger believes that the public will believe it of you, after ‘all that you have done for them all’. The Prophet will lap it up too, it’ll give them something else to kiss your arse over. And Granger was very clear that this was to be our public line.” Potter sighs and nods, waving his hand for Draco to continue. “However we tell those who are closer to us, my mother, the Weasley girl, some of your little Gryffindors, and who won’t buy that story another version of it. The Ministry asked you to keep an eye on me, we both actually hate the idea due to the fact that I am me and you are you, but we have ulterior motives for going along with it. You are having some trouble with your wand, since killing V-Voldemort with mine.”

“Expelliarmus not an AK” Potter rejoins in a weary voice.

Draco ignores him. 

“So you want to give it back to me, but it is reluctant to relinquish its mastery, due to the unusual events surrounding the use of it, we’ll insert whispers of scary Dark Lord magic here, play up the ‘you’ve seen death’ angle, your length of time being master of it, etc. We consulted with Ollivander, and he has given us a ritual to go through to return my wand, and strengthen your bond to yours as it was damaged, but it takes a while to do. We hedge on a non-specified number of moon cycles, and needing certain hard to harvest ingredients. Ollivander will confirm this in general if asked, as will Shacklebolt. In the meantime you are my protector and guard. While I am in essence still under arrest, I am happy to go along with this, as it give me a certain measure of freedom, eventually my wand, and your protection.”

“I think we should add in that during this process we have agreed to try and sort out our differences, and to be civil.” 

Draco’s head snaps up to stare at Potter. “Why, in Merlin’s name?”

“Well, we have no idea how long this situation might last. Even once I’ve leant you back the wand we may still need to be in regular contact in a ‘familial’ sort of way, and if we can pass that off as us catching up or spending time together for a reason other than the wand, then that throws people off the scent. And it works for the public version, and for the closer version too.”

Potter has a good point. People close to them might buy the wand being a little difficult to return, the way everyone elevated the Dark Lord to some pinnacle of Dark Magic will allow them to easily believe that something got fucked up with the wand that killed him, but only up to a point. If it drags on they’ll start to ask why Potter is bothering, why not just destroy it and be done with it. 

“OK. That works, we say that due to the amount of time that we’ve had to spend together to work through the ritual we had a lot of time to talk, and that this allowed us to come to an understanding. I, I” Draco feels his throat close up and coughs, trying to continue more confidently but keep his head down “I asked for forgiveness for my part in the War, I realise now how warped the ideologies of my family were, and I am attempting to learn a new way of thinking,” He looks up, and finds himself looking Potter directly in the eyes, his breath catches and he wonders if Potter can read what measure of truth there is in his words. He’s not sure he knows that himself, yet. Potter’s eyes are bright and unwavering and he can’t bear it. He drops his gaze. “You were magnanimous and forgave me.” 

Potter clears his throat “I think there would be more shouting.” At Draco’s raised eyebrow he continues, “For it to be believable, to my friends at least, there will have to have been more shouting. Probably a bit of storming off in a temper. Bit of going off for a fly so I can calm down, maybe some firewhiskey, possibly some punches” There seems to be a smile in Potter’s words. And it sounds more like an offer than a script to Draco.

* * * * * *

He can almost feel the distrust and disbelief rolling off Mrs Malfoy the second she steps through the door. She’d been apparated to just outside the house wearing a long black hooded cloak by her assigned Auror, in case of observers, and then quickly brought inside. Harry thinks that stylistically it sits somewhere between Death Eater and Scottish Widows, and he mutters “looking good for your money” to himself as she pulls down the hood once the door has shut.

He’d suggested the Floo, but the Auror department had got twitchy about Harry adding her into his protection charms, even if he later removed her. Mrs Malfoy gives him a quiet look and unbuttons her cloak at the neck, loosening it but not removing it. She glances at Harry again with a look that he struggles to decipher, and she seemingly gives up and turns her back a little towards the Auror accompanying her and clears her throat. He’s an older man Harry hasn’t seen before and he automatically steps forward and slips Mrs Malfoy’s cloak from her shoulders and hangs it on a hook on the wall, looking slightly flustered to be doing so. Harry sighs, -1 on the hosting points already. 

Harry notices the hook has vanished the cloak, presumably to the cloakroom further down the hall and he adds that to his list of mysterious fixes, as it has never done that before. Mrs Malfoy steps forward further into the hallway, her dress brushing the troll’s leg umbrella stand, but somehow it doesn’t topple or even wobble and Harry has to bite back a wave of anger at the grace Narcissa possesses even now, and the memory of her cousin Tonks that it forces to the surface. He takes a breath, “I can take it from here, thanks.” 

The Auror looks uncomfortable. He’d been given his orders to leave his charge here, from the Minister himself, but he still feels unsure. “I can stay if you want me to, sir?”

“No, really. Go catch up on some paperwork, or go shopping, or for a walk or something. I’m fine. I’ll send you an owl when I know what time you need to return. If you don’t hear from me, then just come back shortly before 10 tonight.” The Auror nods and hands Harry his card, Harry will be able to use the details to direct an owl to him if needed. Mrs Malfoy inclines her head to the Auror, and he gives a small nod in return that feels to Harry like it is trying not to be a formal bow. Pureblood manners run deep, especially faced with someone like Narcissa Malfoy.

* * * * * *

Draco rises to his feet as his mother enters the room a step behind Potter. He steps forward and kisses her cheek, lingering longer than customary as she grasps his shoulders. He can feel the uneven shudder of her breath, the ghost of a sob but no more. He closes his eyes and breathes in her perfume. She’s worn the same one since he was a baby, and he’d know it anywhere. He steps back and looks at her, tries to take her all in. “Mother”

“Draco, my darling, you look well.” If he didn’t know her so well, he probably wouldn’t have noticed the wobble in her voice at all.

Potter is trying to be unobtrusive, and failing, hovering by the door after showing Mother in. Draco raises his eyebrows at him to prompt him. “Would you care for something to eat Mrs Malfoy? Kreacher has prepared lunch, if you’d like to join us?”

“That would be delightful, if you are sure it is no trouble, Mr Potter.”

“Not at all, Mrs Malfoy. I’ll go and let Kreacher know. I’ll send him through when it is ready, I believe he’s just waiting for something to come out of the oven, it shouldn’t be long.” He disappears out of the door, Merlin bless him for it. Draco knows for a fact that everything is ready and sat under stasis charms, Potter is just giving them a few moments privacy.

As soon as Potter has softly closed the door, Mother raises her hand to Draco’s face. “Tell me, are you truly well? Is everything quite alright, Draco? I know they have forced you into this arrangement, and we don’t have the strongest hand but Atherton remains loyal, she can find someone suitable to petition the Minister . . .”

Their agent was one of the only to stand with them, come the trials. Her family had been on a retainer from the Blacks for generations, as agents, barristers or advisors as the times required, and she was the type to take that kind of history seriously. “No, don’t trouble her, I am well, and everything is quite alright. The situation isn’t exactly as I described before I came here, or in my letters, but I was concerned we could be overheard, or the letters intercepted. But we can talk more freely here.” He’s got to get the level of cloak and wand underhandedness pitched just right here, for her to believe him, but he can’t reveal the full truth, however much he wishes he could. Granger has made sure of that with her contract. He can see Mother is intrigued now, and she gestures for him to continue.

* * * * * *

Mrs Malfoy sits at the dining table. She is seemingly serene, but it is clear to Harry where Malfoy gets a lot of his mannerisms from, and he can therefore tell she isn’t truly that calm. For all everyone says Malfoy takes after his father Harry thinks they all have it wrong. He’s Narcissa through and through he thinks, underneath it all. He projects pure Malfoy, but Harry sees more and more as time goes on that this is just a front. 

Mrs Malfoy turns to him and fixes him with a look. He tries not to blanch and can see Malfoy smirking at him from the corner of his eye. “Draco was saying that you two have been settling your differences, while he has been here?” Her tone shows how little she believes it and Malfoy is exuding a definite air of I-told-you-so, so Harry decides to wipe the smug off him, if he can.

“We’ve actually been bonding over design if you would believe it?” Mrs Malfoy makes a small noise that could be described as scoffing, if she did that sort of thing. It is amplified by a slightly muffled choking sound from Malfoy, and he knows he’s going off piste, but he’s feeling devilish and decides to run with it. He turns to Malfoy “Draco, you were just telling me about the de Gendt wallpaper in the library, but we got interrupted by Kreacher needing me in the kitchen. Maybe you could continue, I’m sure your mother would be interested to hear.” He turns to Mrs Malfoy, “Draco has been so helpful with the house since he’s been here. I can do the basic sorting and cleaning, with Kreacher, but having not grown up in a wizarding house I’m unfamiliar with a lot of the features of a house like this. His charm work is outstanding, as you know, so it has been most helpful to have his guidance on repairs.” He runs through the list in his head of things he’s noticed “So far we’ve tackled the wall sconces in here, the plumbing in the master bathroom, the cloak hooks in the hallway, the cataloguing system in the library, . . . I forget what else.” He looks at Malfoy who is a bloody good actor. Only a twitch of his eye gives away his shock at his nocturnal repairs having been found out.

“Indeed, . . . Harry,” he manages. He takes a breath and seems to make a decision. “You forget the skylight and vents in the attics, the atmospheric charms on them are work much more smoothly now, which has improved the whole house, don’t you find?”

Harry had noticed it wasn’t as stuffy, that there always seemed to be a pleasant fresh tint to the air, but he hadn’t realised what had caused the improvement. So, what, magic air conditioning? He eyes Malfoy, “A huge improvement, yes.”

“Did you say de Gendt, Mr Potter? One hardly finds that at all these days. The Manor had him in the drawing room in the West Wing, as I recall, but it was replaced just before I took residence.” She looks wistful, “I found it rather diverting myself, but Draco’s grandmother was always always one to keep up with the latest trends. In the private salons she used for entertaining her friends, of course, not the formal rooms.” Although her tone is nothing but pleasant and her words mild, Harry gets the feeling that the two Malfoy matriarchs hadn’t had the smoothest of relationships. “Perhaps you can both show me, once lunch is over?” Malfoy reaches over and squeezes his mother’s hand and smiles.

Kreacher has appeared at Mrs Malfoy’s side, and hovers a tray of what looks like miniature pieces of fruit, interspersed with the smallest prettiest cherry bakewells Harry has ever seen. The elf looks very pleased with himself. “Kreacher is making them specially, Miss Black. Kreacher is _remembering_ ”and Mrs Malfoy lets out an unexpected laugh. Even Malfoy looks surprised.

“I think these were the start of my sweet tooth. And my love of almonds.” She takes a bite of a tiny perfect looking orange and shows Malfoy and Harry the inside. “Marzipan, you see? My mother was very strict about sweets and cakes, I was hardly allowed any at home, but when I came here I would eat as many of these as I could. They taste just as I remember them, Kreacher, thank you.” The elf looks like he might pop with the praise and he conjures another tray of them and pushes it towards Malfoy. 

“Sirius and I once stole a whole box full and took them to the attic to eat. I should have known better, as I think I was around 9 which would have made Sirius 4, but the adults were droning on in the drawing room about something political, and the sweets were just too tempting. Sirius was horribly sick afterwards, he ate about 20, but an elf helped hide the evidence of our crime. Hetty, I think?” She looks at Kreacher for confirmation, and he nods, clearly thrilled she remembers both his cooking and his former fellow house elf.

“I’ve not heard you talk about your childhood in so long, Mother. I used to love listening to stories of your family when I was little.” He looks softer, younger, Harry thinks. Narcissa is quiet.

“After a time your father preferred I didn’t speak too much of the Blacks. And my sisters . . .” She swallows, takes a slow sip of elderflower wine “Well, my sisters and I had to grow up very fast. Too fast. Childhood was soon over.” She looks at Malfoy and he nods. Harry thinks both he and Malfoy know how that one goes.

* * * * * *

It is bitter sweet, spending time with his Mother like this, here in the Black house. 

She’s not been herself for years, not since rumours of the Dark Lord rising again started, and his father started to try and position himself in anticipation. After that it became all about connections, power, politics and influence, and the family name, rather than just the family itself. He can remember a time in his early childhood when it wasn’t so. He’s not stupid enough to think that his father was ever a _nice_ man, that he hadn’t manipulated, hadn’t used his influence, hadn’t revelled in their wealth and position in comparison to others. He’d always thought the Malfoys a cut above the rest, justified or not, but there had once been an aspect to him that had been inward facing, bound up with them as a family, not just a family name. In his own way he cared, Draco hopes, and his mother certainly had. She’d been the centre of Draco’s universe when he was small, she lit up his world like a Lumos. 

He supposes it had been around his 7th birthday when it had started to change. He remembers his mother had bought him a magical game that birthday, the aim to balance a precarious stack of charmed wooden animals which moved and made noises; an over exuberant monkey could bring down the whole lot if not carefully placed. His father had left the room when visitors had arrived to see him, he doesn’t remember who, but realises now that it must have been fellow Death Eaters. Seeing his father gone his mother had handed him another gift, lifted from inside her sewing box, ‘from your aunt’. Inside were all sorts of paints and pencils, thick creamy card, brushes and a tiny easel. Draco had been awed, his own art set rather than borrowing his mother’s things. 

Although officially Andromeda and Narcissa were estranged he had seen his mother reading letters from “Aunt Andi’ now and then, although they never met. Narcissa had laughed at the gift ‘She clearly sees how talented you are. I sent her a copy of your drawing of the holly in the garden at Christmas, how like her to remember.’ He knew his mother sent his cousin gifts too, knew she was at Hogwarts already. ‘Go put them in your room now darling, we’ll go and paint tomorrow. Your father will be away on business for a few days and it will give us something to do.’ At that age Draco hadn’t yet started to notice his aunt’s gifts were always something to do when his father was elsewhere, that her letters were always read and replied to to when Narcissa and he were alone, even to be put aside before a house elf was called. Now he knows the significance of her actions, what her light ‘Let us tidy these away before we have our elevenses, Draco, we wouldn’t want to get crumbs on them would we?’ really meant. Draco would obediently comply, eager for cake and biscuits.

In his 7th year his father became a much larger part of Draco’s life. He’d heard his parents talking of him, of his education. ‘You’ve had him for his childhood, Cissa, but he needs to be prepared for Hogwarts now, prepared for his future. You know what is coming.’ He hadn’t known what that meant at the time.

Instead of spending his days with his mother learning from her, from then on he’d had tutors. He loved potions most, but he missed drawing in the garden. He kept his art set from Andi hidden in his room, along with his folder of drawings. He wonders now if it is still there. He was taken more and more on ‘business’ trips with his father, presented as ‘my son and heir, Draco.’ to a variety of people whose names he wasn’t really sure of. He was never allowed to listen to the conversations when it started to get serious, but given a toy or trinket to play with, some sweets to eat, and sent into another room. ‘All in good time, Draco’ his father had said, and Draco longed to please him, longed to be involved. To prove to his father that he was ready for his future.

If Andromeda sent him a present for his 8th birthday, Draco never got sight of it.

But here, in Grimmauld Place, his Mother looks like a version of herself that Draco had forgotten had existed. She’s crouched down next to him examining the wallpaper, and there is a light in her eyes when she turns to him and squeezes his hand. He hates that he’s only just getting to see it now, when soon they’ll be separated. He hopes she’ll start to paint again once she’s away from here. 

“Mr Potter, I do believe I can help you with these particular renovations.” She stands. “As I said, we had de Gendt in the Manor, and I am certain I have seen the pattern books in the library there. You know how it is, Draco?” She has a smile on her face as she turns to him.

“Yes, never a piece of paper thrown away, unless it should prove useful one day. For generations.” Draco replies drily. The Malfoys are hoarders, no doubt.

“I’m paying a last visit there tomorrow morning. I can ask if I can retrieve them for you. Or I’ll at least locate them and you can ask the Aurors to bring them over.”

“You’ve been in the Manor?” Draco is shocked. They’d been told it was out of bounds. They had been allowed a few minutes to collect personal effects and then ushered out. Their bags given to them the next day, the contents rifled through, everything opened.

“Yes, the Unspeakables asked for my assistance. I’ve been helping them identify . . . items of interest that they have found there.” Draco shudders, the thought of spending any time there horrifies him. He’d been glad when they said they couldn’t go back. He dreads to think what the ‘items of interest’ are. “Since you have taken up residence here I’ve been there a few hours each day. The Unspeakables have been rather kind. They allowed me to retrieve a few more keepsakes and personal effects. They can spot something Dark a mile off, and were rather unconcerned by my retrieving my photo albums and sewing box.”

She turns to Draco, “Would you fetch me some parchment and a quill, darling. I’ll write a note for Auror Jenkins to pass on to the Unspeakables. I can remember which section of the library the pattern books are in, so they should be able to find them quickly. I doubt I’ll have time tomorrow morning. There are a few more pressing things that need dealing with there.”

Potter jumps up, “I’ll go and get some.”

“No need, Draco will do it. Won’t you darling? You can show me more of the room, Mr Potter, and tell me your plans.” Her look brooks no argument. Fuck. What is she up to? He leaves the library and hurries to his room as quickly as he can. If she doesn’t have much time, then maybe he can avoid whatever the hell she has planned.

* * * * * *

Mrs Malfoy comes to stand across from him, closing the door firmly but quietly as she passes it. She sits on the sofa, elegant and poised. She gestures, “Mr Potter?” And he find himself sitting almost involuntarily in the chair opposite, and wonders what is coming. He’s pretty sure it isn’t advice on paint colours. She gestures with her wand towards the door, muttering an incantation. A low murmur starts up by the door, a male and female voice in conversation, the words unclear. Harry can feels the blanket of the muffling spell settle over them. He’s much more attuned to how magic feels around him, since he’s been less able to channel it himself. “I find silence arouses much more suspicion than often desired, Mr Potter. Personally I find this a more agreeable distraction than that infernal buzzing that Severus always preferred.”

Fuck, but she’s intimidating. In a kind of McGonagall way though, Harry muses, rather than anything more sinister, which surprises him a bit. He’d thought Andi was the odd one out of the Black sisters, but maybe it was Bellatrix after all. He likes to think that she’s the exception, it’s a rather comforting thought.

“I won’t ask you what is happening here Mr Potter, as I can see by now that I won’t be told, by either Draco or yourself. However having seen him here, I do feel satisfied that it is benign, and I appreciate the chance to see where Draco will be settled in my . . . absence.” Harry goes to speak, through he’s not sure what he’s going to say, and she thankfully holds a hand up to silence him. “I wanted to thank you, Mr Potter.” She looks down at her hands and then defiantly up again at Harry, it is a gesture that is so reminiscent of Malfoy that it catches his breath. 

“I was weak, Mr Potter. I don’t like to admit it, but it is true, so I must. I was weak, and it has cost both Draco and I dearly.” She’s still holding his gaze, and he believes every word. There is no compromise in her eyes. “I won’t try and pretend that my views on Wizarding society align fully with yours or those of your contemporaries, Mr Potter. You know well enough of my family and my upbringing to make a lie of that. But even so, I stepped beyond what I was personally comfortable with. Although I did not like all that I saw, all I heard or was complicit in, I made it easy on myself. I looked away. I pretended to myself that I did not know what was going on. And I diminished myself and my standards, and by doing so caused untold harm. It was beneath me.” 

She smooths down the skirts of her dress and robe, her hands are trembling and he wonders if she has ever had this conversation before. If she had rehearsed it last night, in her head before she slept. “When He was gone, the first time, I breathed a sigh of relief and told myself to put it all behind me. As if it did not matter any more, as if it could ever fade away. I let it sit, unchallenged, in my _own_ home, my _own_ family. There was a time when my words could have made a difference, when my intervention could have changed things, at least within my own home, if not for the wider world. But as I say, I was weak. I took the easy route. And then, when He rose again, I told myself it was too late. That we were in too deep, that the risk was too high. To myself, to Lucius, to Draco. There were . . . opportunities I could have taken, moments when I could have left. I did not take them. I did not leave. I carried on looking the other way. And when Draco got dragged into it all, I told myself that now all hope was lost. That we were so tangled up in it, that now we had to carry on to the end. Wherever that was.”

She pauses, swallows, “In the forest,” at this Harry makes an involuntary noise, a small wounded sound, and she looks him in the eye again, “I knew, could feel so clearly, that was the last chance I would be given. I had no hope, but I could not bring myself to look away this time. When I realised you were alive, when you told me Draco was still alive, I felt hope again for the first time in a long time. I put my trust in you, and I am exceedingly glad that I did, Mr Potter. I just wish it had not taken me so long, that I was not strong enough to guide and protect Draco sooner.”

“I know this goes no way towards excusing my behaviour, but I hope that by my setting it before you in this way that you can find it in you to excuse Draco of some of his. I did not guide him, did not protect him in the way that I should have as a child, as a youth, and in that I was sorely mistaken. I can only apologise to you now, formally, and hope that you can take it in the spirit it is intended.”

She stands, and Harry does too wondering what’s coming now, and she sweeps into a low formal curtsey, head bowed. “I, Narcissa Malfoy, of the line of Black, offer my humble thanks and gratitude to you, Harry Potter heir of the House of Black, for your assistance and succour both to my family and to society. I offer formal apology for my wrongdoings towards you and your kin, by omission and action, and plead your grace and mercy.”

Harry thinks he’s probably the most uncomfortable he’s ever been, he can feel the second hand embarrassment for Mrs Malfoy creeping up his neck, and he just wants this over. What the fuck is he supposed to say? Is there an official format for this that no one has bothered to tell him? She still in the curtesy, waiting for his response, so he responds the only way he knows how, “You have it. I don’t hold your actions against you.” He can feel the magic of the accepted apology settle over him, it feels kind of warm and comforting. It relaxes him a bit. Christ he feels old all of a sudden. She stands and looks at him, shaken, relieved. She looks a bit younger to Harry somehow, but also more tired.

“I get it, Mrs Malfoy. Just because there are options, doesn’t mean they are all equal or as easily taken. Believe me, there are plenty of times I can look back at, and wonder if I should have acted a different way, taken a different path. And the risk probably _was_ too big, once Riddle came back. He would have found you, if you left. Him, or his followers. My parents hid from him, Neville’s too and . . .” He rubs his hand over his face, up into his hair. He suddenly feels like he wants to cry. He clears his throat. “And call me Harry, please. Being Mr Potter makes me uncomfortable.”

“In that case, I should be Narcissa, if that doesn’t make you just as uncomfortable?” It does, but he can live with it. She waves her wand at the door with a Finite Incantatem and the spells drop. Malfoy immediately tumbles in the door, parchment and quill in hand. If Harry is any judge he looks relieved to see them both in one piece. He doesn’t ask his mother what happened. He is clearly itching to, and Harry notches up a point in good breeding’s favour. Excessive politeness has it’s uses he feels. Narcissa takes the paper as if nothing is out of the ordinary, sits and starts to write. Malfoy blanches when his mother calls Harry ‘Harry’ and looks positively scandalised when Harry calls her ‘Narcissa’ in return.

* * * * * *

The next day, Mother returns at 10 in the morning. She won’t tell him much of what was said between herself and Potter yesterday, just some platitudes about the propriety of making amends. The rest of the day had been spent touring the house and talking of nothing much. 

Draco feels that they are both ignoring the dragon in the room, but in some ways he is glad. They had plenty of heart to hearts in the days before he moved here to Grimmauld Place, plenty of tears were shed and regrets voiced, and now they are now in the calm waters beyond. Spending his day yesterday chatting with his mother about craft and decoration charms, wallpaper designs and the influence of the British Arts and Crafts movement on Wizarding fashion of the early 20th century had been a delight. 

It feels like the relationship they should have been having over the last couple of years, talking of their mutual interests and what he enjoys studying, what he might study further. They avoid the idea that she won’t be present to see it, that these discussions will be by letter after tomorrow morning, if at all. After a short tour of the house Potter, thankfully, had made himself absent, pleading the need to catch up with correspondence and locking himself away in his office. Draco is grateful for the pretence, however clumsily executed. 

Mother has brought photo albums. Draco almost can’t bear to look at them. The childhood ones promise a future that never came to fruition. They weren’t a photo kind of family, more of an oil painting type really, but his mother had taken informal snaps here and there, alongside more posed photos to send to family and to use to gently brag to friends, him playing the piano (precociously) , riding the horses (expertly), sweeping through the air on his broom (daringly). He leafs through as his Mother throws in comments, jogging memories. Draco thinks she wants to remind him of a time when things had been normal, maybe to give him hope that it can be again. Father is in some of the photos, but neither of them mention him. He is too sad a topic for her, too anger inducing for him. 

The photos stop in the summer before 6th. Some of the last in the albums are him and Kester, posed as Kester instructs him at the piano. He played so beautifully. Draco’s chest hurts a bit to think of that summer.

Narcissa strokes her hand over one of the photos where Draco is playing, Kester leaning over to point at something in the music and then they share a smile before Draco continues playing. “You were rather fond of Mr Menzies, I think?” Mother is looking at him knowingly and he colours a little. 

“Yes, I was rather. I wish I knew how he was doing now.” He pauses, looking at the photo again. “Perhaps it is for the best though.”

“I rather imagine his wife would think so” his Mother replies archly. Draco’s head snaps up to look at her in shock. “I hadn’t thought when I introduced you, that it would turn out quite the way it did. Neither did his mother, I’m sure, but at least the elder Mrs Menzies has always been rather unable to see what is right in front of her. I’m sure she had no idea. And the younger Mrs Menzies fortunately had few opportunities to see you and Kester together, as she was overseeing the finishing touches on their new residence.”

“You knew?” He’s burning with embarrassment now. He thought he’d been so discrete, so clever. But then he had been only just 16, and Kester barely 17.

“Draco, I have eyes.” He blushes further. “My plan had rather been for you to see a young man of your own . . . persuasion settling down with a wife, planning to produce an heir. I had hoped a friendship with young Kester might show you how you could still have a happy life, even though it wouldn’t be your first choice. I had thought you might confide in one another, be a comfort to each other. Although not quite in the way you ended up being.”

This was possibly the most embarrassing moment of his life, of course there had been much, much _worse_ moments, horrifically so, but finding out your Mother was aware you were shagging her close friend’s _newly married_ son was way up there for sheer spine crawling mortification. He’d not been proud of sleeping with a married man, although Kester had hardly seemed such. He was just a boy like him at the time, and clearly romantically uninterested in the wife that had been found for him. Indeed her barely knew her.

“Why didn’t you say anything, make me break it off?” He had suspected her motivations for bringing him and Kester together, she’d implied as much, without resorting to anything as crass as saying it outright. The introduction between them had come within days of her walking in to his rooms seconds after he had been snogging Theo, so he had guessed she at least suspected his sexual preferences. He could see that she had hoped that to see another young gay pureblood settling himself into married life, fulfilling his obligations, would show him that it could be done, show him his way forward. 

Of course, instead, he’d fancied Kester on sight.

It had taken a few meetings of them skirting around the issue, flirting subtly and sounding each other out cautiously, but they had made up for lost time quickly after their first stolen kiss in the grounds of Menzies House.

“I had thought to. I was going to invent some obligation to keep us away.” She looks up at him, eyes shining. “You looked so happy though, and in the end I couldn’t bear to. I knew it was unfair on young Georgia, but I also knew it had a time limit. You were going to return to school, Kester was going to move to their new house and take over his family duties.” She looks at him again. “And you had been given your task to complete when you got back to school. A few stolen days of fun seemed minor in comparison.”

Draco closes the album, makes to hand it back to Mother but she stops him. “I want you to keep them. I have copies. These are for you.” He puts them on the sideboard, he doesn’t really want to look at them anymore, he stomach feeling sick at the thought of what came in the months after the photos stopped.

“I want you to know Draco, that I wouldn’t make the same decision now.” He’s surprised, he would think that she wouldn’t begrudge him those few joyful weeks of sex and laughter. He’s a little hurt and he feels himself sag a little at the thought. 

“You misunderstand, Draco. I had an image in my head of what you would be, then, and the idea of you deviating from that path we had chosen: a wife, a child, becoming head of the family, and everything else that came with that, was simply unthinkable. I see now that to try and force you into a life that was for the benefit of myself and your Father, rather than for your own, was wrong. In this aspect, and others.” Her face shifts from downcast to a playful smile, and it looks good on her, “Perhaps I should have just told you to invite Theo round more.” She laughs at Draco’s wildly contorting expression. “He was a nice looking boy, very polite too, I seem to remember. Although not as handsome as Kester, I’ll admit.”

Draco’s had just about as much of this as he can handle, Mother rating the attractiveness of his exes is a step too far for him. He stands abruptly. “Tea, Mother? I’ll see if P - Harry wants to join us.” Maybe he can act as a buffer for this insanity. He thinks his Mother is unlikely to continue with this subject in front of Potter. Probably.

* * * * * *

Harry has been dragged into tea with Mrs Ma- _Narcissa_ and Malfoy. He doesn’t know what they’ve been doing, but Malfoy looks flustered, if he is any judge. They take to the dining room again, Kreacher has set up a feast of snacks on the table.

“You could possibly restore the charms on the table next, Mr Potter. That might be quite straight forward, if they haven’t degraded too much.” Harry is puzzled, what charms does a table need? He’s starting to get the feeling that pureblood households don’t own so much as a cushion that doesn’t have magic built in. 

His confusion is clearly written all over his face, as Narcissa continues, “Usually a formal table like this would have extension charms built in. It will grow and shrink for the required number of place settings, between a set minimum and maximum. An Engorgio scales rather unreliable on something of this quality, and transfiguring an object into a differently scaled version of the same object often provides inconsistent results, too tall legs, uneven thicknesses and the like. Inlaid charms provide consistency and quality.”

Narcissa glances down and sweeps the edge of the table under the edge to her left with her fingertips, and then does the same to her right. “Ah, here.” She indicates a small brass plaque attached to the frame edge underneath the tabletop, with engraved numbers from two to sixteen. A small brass arrow sits in a slot underneath, pointing directly at the ‘2’. “See, Mr Potter, the charm is currently set for an intimate family meal, but the table is the size for six, possibly eight settings. They degrade over time, so usually a household would call in a furniture charm expert as part of the annual spring cleaning process. With a table of this quality it would also likely include an inlaid polishing charm. As townhouses such as these became more popular in society it became a much needed innovation, reducing the need for quite so many house elves. Any wood items in the house could likely have their charms revived.”

She turns to Malfoy and smiles “Do you remember the Ballroom floor, that had one of the most outstanding polishing charms I have ever seen.” 

Malfoy’s eyes light up. “I remember it well, yes.” Some fragile and fleeting emotion passes between Narcissa and Malfoy in that glance, and Harry can’t quite place it. He almost feels the need to look away.

* * * * * *

Draco feels sick. Gut curlingly horrifically sick. He breathes in and out through his nose, trying to quell the feeling. Yesterday had been wonderful. He’d felt relaxed in a way he hadn’t felt for years, had pushed away the knowledge of his Mother’s impending removal from Britain. The payback was that he’d felt the knowledge come back with full force this morning the moment he had opened his eyes.

And now here he is, stood in this shitty Ministry Portkey waiting room, watching the Floo for his Mother’s arrival. The embroidered handkerchief sat waiting on the Portkey table keeps drawing his eye. If he had thought about it at all he would have thought they would make a Portkey for her from some piece of rubbish, had their fun by making her hold something covered in rust or dirt. This is actually a rather fine object, pristine linen with delicate lace edges. He wants to Incendio it, but knows it is a bad idea. Both for his precarious situation and his capabilities with his current shitty wand.

His Mother had asked him not to be here, after all they had said their real goodbyes last night at Grimmauld Place, had really been saying them all day over and again in recalled memories, in small touches, and by shared glances. But he couldn’t let her go and not be here, however much he doesn’t want to. He can’t let her last moments here be with only an Auror guard and a Portkey official for company. He hears a noise and glances towards the Floo, but it is actually the door that is opening. Shacklebolt walks in, an Auror at each shoulder, the Senior Portkey Administrator following behind. 

Draco rises to his feet, he tries not to let his shock show, but he’s not sure he’s managing. He can feel the panic rising, what has changed that forces Shacklebolt to be here? Surely they can’t change their mind about Azkaban now, couldn’t renege on the Wizenmagot’s decision?

Shacklbolt’s voice is calm and low, “Draco, I’m glad you are here, I wasn’t sure if you would be able.”

And, OK, ‘glad’ isn’t a word Draco would use for the situation at hand, but it is reassuring. He knows Shacklebolt is a decent man, and he would hardly be glad to see Draco in the room if he was about to throw his Mother to the Dementors. “Sir.” He manages to croak out, his throat feels like sand. And then he hears the whoosh of the Floo and turns to see his Mother emerge, her assigned Auror arriving seconds later. Draco allows himself a second’s amusement at the realisation that the Auror is handling her shrunken baggage for her. As if he should have expected anything else.

Shacklebolt turns to his Aurors “Malcolm, Constance, you may step outside and wait for me there.” He can see the hesitation in their eyes, but the Minister merely raises an eyebrow at them. He’s more than capable of handling himself, and they know it. The door closes with a creak as they leave. Shacklebolt nods at Emery, his Mother’s guard, and he takes the Portkey official to the other side of the room to check both the Portkey and the paperwork. It leaves the Minister, Draco and his Mother alone on the other side of the room. 

“Your passport Mrs Malfoy, please.” The Minister’s voice is polite and calm. Mother reaches into her robes and hands it over, she’d clearly been expecting the request. The Minister gives her a letter in return, sealed with his crest. “Should you need to return in an emergency present this letter to the Britain’s Wizarding embassy in Paris.” Narcissa nods “It is my duty to remind you that in five years you will be eligible to reapply for your passport, and to petition for your return to Britain, should you wish to do so. A full hearing will be held within 60 days of any application.” 

Draco wonders why the Minister of all people is here doing this, why it isn’t a junior Ministry legislator doing this task. “I will lodge your passport myself in the Wizenmagot archives under my own magical signature, along with the paperwork relating to your parole hearing in five years.” And _there_ it is, thinks Draco, Shacklebolt trusts parts of the Ministry as little as Potter seems to. “Please also rest assured that I will keep a personal eye on the parole conditions of your son, Mrs Malfoy, in your absence.” A few months ago Draco thinks he would have taken that as a threat, but now it feels like a reassurance. The Minister looks at Draco, “I need to check through a few things about your Mother’s situation in France before she departs, it will take around 10 minutes.” After a nod at Mother, he’s across the room in a couple of strides to the Auror and Administrator, leaving him and Mother alone.

“My baby boy” she whispers. Her eyes are wet.

“Don’t, please.” He doesn’t know if he can do this, maybe he shouldn’t have come after all.

“Sorry.” She brushes her eyes discreetly. “I’m glad you came. I know I said not to, but I am so glad you are here.”

They have never been a family for public display of affection, but he can’t help but pull her into a tight embrace. He’s taller than her now, has been for a year, and he can bury his nose in her hair as he holds her. He can smell her perfume again. She grips onto him tightly, her can hear her breaths are uneven, they catch in her throat. After a few minutes she gently pushes him away a fraction. Her mouth is by his ear. “Don’t give them a thing, Draco, not a single reason, not a single excuse.” She pulls back a little more to look in his eyes, “You are going to grow into a fine young man, I have no doubt of it. Remember that. When others doubt you, remember that I _never_ will.”

The Minister is making his way back to them now, that infernal handkerchief held in the Portkey Administrators hand as she follows him. She offers it to Mother, who takes it in her hand. “Mrs Malfoy, this Portkey will activate in 2 minutes. A French Auror will be waiting to escort you to your residence when you arrive. You will be required to present yourself to them at intervals of their choice, the French authorities will explain their requirements to you once you arrive.”

His Mother nods in acknowledgment, “Minister” she says deferentially, he makes a small bow in return and then steps back. She looks to the side “Do give me regards to your team, Auror Emery” and then she looks down and takes a moment to compose herself. She smoothes her robes down, before taking her bags from the Auror at her side. Stepping forward towards him she kisses Draco’s cheeks lightly, first one then the other, then steps back again.

“Write me your news, darling. I’ll reply as often as I can.” The ‘as often as we are both allowed to’ sits in the air unspoken.

And then she’s gone.

 

* * * * * *

Malfoy seems remarkably put together. Harry had expected him to be a mess, but he’s calm and almost chatty. An OWL arrived when he was out at the Ministry with the shrunken wallpaper pattern books from the Manor library and Malfoy has found the patterns that match the library paper, and also that of some of the bedrooms and the Drawing Room. In the stasis charm protected book the colours are vibrant, and the charms still working to an extent. The library paper is a deep blue illustration on a dove grey background. Magical birds fly gracefully across the paper, settling in branches of the elegantly drawn trees. Harry is entranced. If he watches the paper long enough he’s sure he catches sight of a Golden Snidget every now and again. 

The bedroom paper is more restful still, waving meadows with the occasion fairy flitting among the wildflowers. The Drawing Room paper is more formal, the background deep green, much faded now on Harry’s walls, and vibrantly coloured and exotic potion ingredients curl round each other in a more regimented repeat pattern.

Malfoy is exclaiming at the workmanship, talking through all the detail that Harry has missed at high speed. He hasn’t mentioned Narcissa, and Harry doesn’t quite know how to bring it up. ‘Yes, it is a lovely Hellebore illustration isn’t it, and by the way how did your Mother’s exiling go?’ doesn’t seem like it would go down so well.

Malfoy seems to want to throw himself into the restoration task at hand, and if it helps then who is Harry to deny him, he thinks. It seems to be keeping him busy and calm, but he’s started getting irritated at Harry’s questions, so he decides to take the opportunity for a task he’s not particularly looking forward to himself. He interrupts a monologue on charm layering, and the application of the the coloured and charmed grounds on the paper. “Malfoy? Is it OK with you if I go out for a bit? I need to go round and see Mrs Weasley and the others.” His stomach squirms at bit at the thought. The Burrow always felt like a safe place before, but since the Battle it is an uncomfortable experience. But Mrs Weasley has been pressing him to visit, and he can’t put it off much longer.

“Sure, Potter, do what you like.” Malfoy is still head down over the book, shoulders tense, wand waving to cast slightly substandard diagnostic spells at the charms. “I’ve got plenty to keep me busy here.”

Harry hesitates, but then leaves the room. He doesn’t see Malfoy’s shoulders fall and his wand drop to the table as he walks out of the door.

* * * * * *

Wood polish? Harry sniffs again as he identifies the unusual smell that is wafting down the corridor as Harry makes his way out after returning by Floo from the Burrow. It is almost dark now, and the hallway seems a little eerie in the dim light. He hadn’t meant to stay quite so long, but Ron and Hermione had been so glad to see him, and Mrs Weasley seemed to be grief cooking again, so lunch was a feast that rolled well into the afternoon. George was having a bad day, unusual in itself, but Ginny had taken his rebuffing of her attempts to help him badly. He’d spent a lot of the day curled up with her in the sunny garden, reading to her from her Practical Healing for Daring Flyers book to try and distract her. Eventually she had fallen asleep in his arms. He’d left only after promising to return soon. 

Return to the smell of beeswax and orange oil. 

Flickering candle light is coming from the dining room, and Harry walks quietly down the hall, hardly making a sound. Years of creeping under his cloak had made him catlike when he needed to be. 

He rounds the doorframe and is confronted with the sight of Malfoy sat on the floor amidst a pile of wood. Correction, thinks Harry, a _very drunk_ Malfoy morosely sat in a pile of what used to be his dining table. He leans against the doorframe staring at the mess. He must have made a noise as Malfoy looked up at him. He blinks at Harry owlishly “The charms are inlaid very deep, so you have to get right to the heart of it if you want to repair them, Potter.” He sounds a bit defensive, as well he might. He looks around himself at the pieces, “I’m doing a drawing though, so I know how it fits back together.” He looks down at the sketch book on his lap which has a few incomprehensible scrawls of numbers and lines and a slightly squinty drawing of a peacock. ”Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘Oh’. What were you doing, Malfoy? I thought you were on wallpaper?” Harry steps gingerly into the room, trying not to dislodge the various leaning piles of timber. The whole room is like an extreme game of Jenga. Though up close it doesn’t look quite so disastrous, there does seem to have been some method to Malfoy’s drunken disassembling.

“I remembered the ballroom floor, you see.” Harry really doesn’t see, but keeps quiet. “Firewhiskey?” He holds up the bottle to Harry. It is half empty. Harry reckons it is probably the appropriate end to a very weird day and takes the bottle. As a rule he’s been trying to steer clear of the booze. He fell into the bottle in the days immediately after the Battle before Ron pleaded with him to stop. The Weasleys had an Uncle who had hit the drink after the first War, and never recovered. The Weasley kids had only ever known him on the drink. He didn’t want Harry to go the same way.

He sits down next to Malfoy, and takes a swig of the whiskey. It’s mellow, less harsh than he remembers. He glances at the bottle and sees that it is the good stuff, of course, part of a rather extensive cellar that the Blacks had left behind. “So, the Ballroom floor?” Harry asks. Malfoy takes the bottle from his hand and takes another slug from it.

“The best polishing charms my Mother had ever seen.” And Harry rememberers Narcissa’s comment from yesterday, how happy she’d looked, “We used to amplify the charm until the floor was as smooth as ice, and skate on it in our stockinged feet. There were mirrors on the walls, and all these beautiful little lights hung from the ceiling. And we’d skate.” Harry glances across at Malfoy and there are fat tears running down his face now. He takes the bottle from Malfoy’s hand and sets it down between them.

Harry doesn’t know how to comfort him. He’s a bit shit at it, he wonders if it is because of not having had a particularly caring upbringing himself. Do Malfoy’s accept hugs anyway? He decides to go for the practical angle. “Do you need a handkerchief?” He fishes round in his pockets, he’s sure he’s got one somewhere.

Malfoy barks out a soggy laugh in response, and then he’s really truly sobbing, great heaving breaths in and out with no rhythm to them. After a while he scrubs at his face, “She was everything. Everything.” He sounds desperate, “And I forgot it these past few years. I spent so much time trying to please Lucius, trying to be like him, do the things he thought important, worthy of the Malfoy name. And I lost her, let all that slip though my fingers. And now she’s gone. For years, maybe forever. I wasted so much effort on him, on trying to get him to see me. I don’t think he ever did, really.” He takes a few shakey breaths. He seems less drunk now, just sad. “These past few days have been . . . You . . . I . . .” 

He doesn’t seem to be able to go any further, and Harry isn’t going to force him to. “It’s OK, Malfoy. I’m glad. Glad you could talk and remember.”

“Do you remember them?” And OK maybe Malfoy is still quite drunk, as his mind seems to be hopping about all over the place.

“Who?” The word comes out of his mouth just he realises what Malfoy is asking. His own parents. Harry thinks he needs to be drunker for this, he picks up the Firewhiskey and takes a couple of drinks from the bottle, before passing it over to Malfoy. Malfoy takes it, and continues to just look at him, with the curiosity of the inebriated..

“No.” It comes out quieter than he expected. “Not a thing. I was too young.” He takes a breath. It feels like Malfoy has shared so much with him this last few minutes, and OK, he’s drunk which he’s sure is helping him run his mouth a little, but he wants to reciprocate. He stands, and then holds out his hand to help Malfoy up. He achieves verticality surprisingly gracefully, bottle still in his other hand. He breaks his grip with Harry’s hand and swipes another bottle as he follows him from the dining room and to the library.

“I do have memories though.” Malfoy looks confused, but intrigued as he trails Harry across the room. Harry puts his hand on the handle of a set of drawers built into the wall. A wash of magic is visible across the handle as Harry makes contact with it, and a soft click of it unlocking sounds loudly in the quiet room. “I only found them when I came back here this summer. Lupin started it, shortly after . . after my parents died.” The drawer is full of stoppered vials, filled with a silvery mist. He’s not shown these to anyone, not even Ron and Hermione.

He can’t bring himself to look at Malfoy but he keeps talking all the same. He can tell he is listening. “He wanted to make copies of them for me while they were still fresh in his mind. There’s one of when my Dad announced Mum was pregnant with me to their friends. Some of their wedding day, the first time Remus met me when I was a few hours old, the first time he saw me laugh, and walk. There is one of Mum singing me a lullaby.” His throat feels so tight he’s not sure if he can continue talking, he takes the firewhiskey from Malfoy’s outstretched hand and takes a sip. “Some school ones of Dad too, mostly when he was trying to win Mum over and failing spectacularly. One of the shit they all gave him after he came back to the dorm after his first date with Mum.” He runs his fingers over the vials, they are all labelled on card tags in Remus’ neat hand, but he knows exactly which one is which without even looking. He pushes the drawer shut, and opens the next which is full of more bottles, these with paper labels stuck to the bottles, writing in black ink dashed across the front.

“Once Sirius came back to live here, after his escape, Remus brought the vials here. I guess he figured I would be living here with Sirius eventually. He must have told him about what he had done, entrusted them to his care, because Sirius has added to them, while he was in hiding here.” He laughs, “There’s a collection of them that are a bit hazy, with matching memories from Remus and Sirius of the same events. I think they might have got drunk and reminisced, then saved the memories.” He turns to look at Malfoy. “Did you know that, that the state you are in when you recall and extract the memories can affect them?” Malfoy shakes his head. Harry looks away, back at the drawer. “Anyway, Sirius locked them all away in these drawers, keyed them to my magical signature and left them to me in his will. So, no, I don’t remember them, but I have a way of _knowing_ them. I can see them through the eyes of the people who loved them most, knew them best.” He pushes the drawer shut and it locks with a click.

He steps next to where Malfoy is leaning against the wall and slides down it to sitting. Malfoy folds himself down onto the floor next to him. Harry takes a long drink.

“The thing I appreciate most is that they included some bad stuff too. There’s one of a blazing row between my Mum and Dad had, and ones of my Dad being a bit of a prick at school. He was quite a bully, I think, before my Mum kicked his arse into shape. But I like that I know those bits of them too. My Mum had some pretty good insults when she wanted, and she could hold a grudge for quite a long time, which you know . . .” He gestures at himself with the bottle, and Malfoy huffs out a laugh, “But she was also the most generous person, she could see the good in almost anyone. It makes me feel like I know them better, having more of the picture. I don’t want to have them set on a pedestal. I want them to be my parents, you know, not my heroes?”

Harry looks across at Malfoy as the man raises the other bottle towards Harry. “To parents, not heroes.”

“Parents, not heroes” Harry returns, clinking his bottle against Malfoy’s.

“Or villains.” Malfoy whispers, and takes another drink.

They sit in silence for a while, lost in their own thoughts, before they go to their rooms for the night.

* * * * * *

When he comes into the kitchen the next morning, Potter is already sat at the table, nursing a strong black tea and looking suspiciously at some toast. He waves his hand in the direction of the counter on the side, where two vials of hangover potion sit, one opened and one unopened. “I got Kreacher to get them.”

Draco sighs gratefully as he grabs one then slips into the seat opposite. “Thank Merlin, I’m all out.” He grabs a cup and pours himself some tea from the pot to wash the potion down, they always taste like shit.

He doesn’t quite know how to address the previous evening. He’s not even going to think about the dining room table yet, they can eat in the kitchen for a bit he’s sure. He’d been in a pretty vulnerable position last night, and Potter had been . . . kind? And had exposed himself to be equally vulnerable. Draco appreciates it, although it makes him terribly uncomfortable. He hardly shares confidences of this depth with anyone, Pansy is probably the only exception, and it makes him uneasy despite the reciprocity. He’s not sure he can talk about it, feels he should possibly offer his thanks, but doesn’t quite know how to broach it. It had seemed easy, in the dark alcohol wrapped night. But now it is the bright of morning and his head hurts. He can feel the potion kicking in a little, so he decides to press ahead. It is time he stops being a prick about this.

“Potter, I had thought we could possibly work on the wand transfer today, if that is agreeable to you?” Potter’s head snaps up, bleary eyes searching his face. He nods. 

“Yeah, that would be, yeah, great.”

“Excellent. We can probably work on your wandless control too. I’m not too bad at it myself, I had plenty of practice when some righteous prick stole my wand.” He sees Potter bristle and wonders if he’s misjudged the tone, but when Potter’s eyes come up to meet Draco’s he obviously sees the lack of hostility there and his posture softens. He quirks his mouth into an almost grin, which Draco returns.

“Silver linings eh?”

* * * * * *


	4. On patents and patience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, nothing as crass as a refusal. But the patent books he requested were ‘unfortunately unavailable’ as they had been ‘removed for restoration’, then the magical paint record, showing colours and mixes of charmable paint colours were ‘withdrawn from circulation for private study’, then the wood polishing charm patents were ‘absent from their shelves, unfortunately they must have been misfiled when they were last returned’. Each request had taken an interminable wait between his request and the reply, only for every single one to be rebuffed, politely and in terms he couldn’t argue against. After being asked to fill in ‘form MA2941 in triplicate, Mr Malfoy, and return on Friday to lodge the request with the archivist’ when he requested if they had any information on permanent sticking charms he had left, despondent.

* * * * * *

Draco is pissed off. He’d carefully gathered all his notes together before heading to the Ministry archive, painstakingly gathering all the information he needed, and now here he is carting it all home again with nothing to show for it. The pattern books Mother had found for the wallpaper had proved most useful in identifying the specific pattern names of the wallpaper, some had been de Gendt as he thought, others by the Yates’, but he hadn’t been able to pick apart the charm work just from studying the samples. However, they did contain Magical Patent numbers for the charms, and paint names and combinations for the illustrations on them. This had given him the idea to search out other Patent and Design numbers on the magical pieces of furniture around Grimmauld, and various little brass plaques had given him ample information to go searching through the archive for the original information on the embedded charm work. Then he might be able to salvage the dining table, and with it some of his pride. He didn’t think of that as quite his finest moment.

However, his time in the Ministry archive had been fruitless. The wizard in charge, while polite, faultlessly so in fact, had obstructed him at every turn. Not so obviously that he would have cause to complain, after all his probation included a stipulation for him to continue his education. The traditionalists of the Wizenmagot had insisted on it. While happy to exile his Mother and imprison his Father, when it became clear that he would be mandated to remain out of custody they could not countenance him not having access to his magical heritage. It was an anathema to them. So his parole documents clearly stated that he should have access to the Ministry library (excepting the restricted section), and to the public part of the Ministry historical archives so that he could continue his education, under the watchful eye of Ministry staff.

So, nothing as crass as a refusal. But the patent books he requested were ‘unfortunately unavailable’ as they had been ‘removed for restoration’, then the magical paint record, showing colours and mixes of charmable paint colours were ‘withdrawn from circulation for private study’, then the wood polishing charm patents were ‘absent from their shelves, unfortunately they must have been misfiled when they were last returned’. Each request had taken an interminable wait between his request and the reply, only for every single one to be rebuffed, politely and in terms he couldn’t argue against. After being asked to fill in ‘form MA2941 in triplicate, Mr Malfoy, and return on Friday to lodge the request with the archivist’ when he requested if they had any information on permanent sticking charms he had left, despondent. 

What pissed him off most was that he couldn’t even blame them. He wouldn’t want to accommodate him either, in the circumstances. The Wizenmagot ruling probably harmed more than hindered in this case, proof that he had been indulged and pardoned, while the victims of the Dark Lord’s crimes still suffered. He slams back into the Grimmauld Place Floo, and storms to the library throwing down his notebooks and papers in disgust. Whether it is at himself, or the Archivist he isn’t really sure. Guilt and existential angst, it seems, makes him conflicted.

He storms out of the library and up to his room and it is only once he is inside and half out of his formal robes and clothes that he registers the noises.

Ginevra. He recognises her voice, but he has never heard it sound like this before. He drops his head in his hands and curses his luck. Although he’s surprised, in a way, that this has never happened before. Despite Potter’s wonky magic. It is probably only because the littlest Weasley is obviously a dab hand with a solid muffling charm, one that holds even when you lose concentration. 

She’s groaning almost like she’s in agony, although if she is then it is the best kind of agony Draco has ever heard. Fuck this, and fuck his shitty magical control right now. Despite him and Potter working on it daily, they still haven’t been able to hand control of his wand back to him reliably, and he’s stuck with this shoddy family wand. He knows he can only manage to throw up a simple Muffliato but if he does he knows from experience that in his current magical state he’ll be left with a hideous buzzing in his ears for hours after. Last time it gave him a migraine. He’s not sure which is worse, a day or two of his head feeling like it is in a vice, or hearing Potter bring his girlfriend to orgasm.

He lies back on the bed and buries his head under his pillow. She sounds close, if he’s any judge. Maybe he can just cover his ears and it will all be over soon. He can’t hear as well now, but he can still hear enough. They clearly hadn’t expected him back yet, he had said to Potter that he would be at the Ministry until at least one in the afternoon, he thought. He risks pulling his head out from under the pillow to cast Tempus, it is only a quarter past eleven. Weasley is speaking now, Potter’s bed must be right on the other side of the wall from Draco’s because she is as clear as a bell. That’s another thing to add to the list, these walls should have inbuilt muffling charms to prevent this kind of horror from ever being experienced by anyone.

“Fuck, yes, just there! Harry! Oh! Gods! Harry!” Fabulous, she’s a talker. At least Potter is quiet. “Oh, Merlin, your tongue feels so good.” His tongue, eh? Well, points there at least, however unwelcome the mental image. Not quite as vanilla as he imagined the proper little Gryfindor couple to be. He shoves his head back under the pillow, unwilling to hear much more. Maybe the migraine would be worth it. She gets louder as she gets closer, and Draco pushes the pillow tighter over his ears as Ginevra more incoherent. At least Potter’s mouth is occupied, so there is no chance he has to hear his dulcet tones.

After another five minutes or so he risks lifting the pillow from his ears. Blessed silence, thank Salazar. Draco divests himself of his formal robes and searches around for something a little comfier and somewhat warmer. He’s come to realise the Black library is constantly freezing, even though it is summer. Maybe the atmospheric charms to control humidity and temperature for the books are off, he’ll have to check. Everything else in this house is bollocksed, so why should this be any different? As he searches through the wardrobe he hears a rhythmic thumping and another series of breathy moans start up through the wall. 

Fucking. Hell. Hasn’t today been bad enough already? Then her noises are joined by another, as if to prove to him that ‘no, actually, today can get a _lot_ worse’. “Fuck. You feel so good, Gin.” Great, he’s a talker too. What the fuck is wrong with being the strong and silent type? He pushes aside the inconvenient fact that when he’s shagging he’s got a pretty dirty mouth on him. His time with Kester proved that beyond doubt.

Draco scrabbles for his clothes as fast as he can, grabs the notebooks he needs from his desk, but unfortunately doesn’t manage to get out of the room before than he wishes. Draco wishes there was a Scourgify for the brain. If he wasn’t so scared of damaging his intellect, he’d risk a self-Oblivate.

* * * * * *

It turns out the library is not-much of a respite from the awful sex noises. The specific words are less clear now, but he’s still getting the gist from down here. The exclamations are accompanied now by a rhythmic squeaking of bedsprings and the headboard hitting the wall, which increases in pace until it is practically constant and on the edge of his hearing there is a ‘Oh Merlin, Harry, I’m going to come’. The squeaking stops, and that, he hopes, is that. He turns back to his notebooks, and tries to concentrate on the detail he had managed to get on the general principles of charmed images. He’d taken some notes from the books he had been able to look at in the public display area of the archives, while waiting for his failed requests. It isn’t something he has ever read up on before, and it is rather intriguing.

He hears the shower start up, upstairs, the pipes in this house are awful and every time one of the them runs some water it reverberates around the house. Another thing for the repair list. Unfortunately for him it seems the pipes also carry other noises as the repetitive sound of Potter carrying on with his sex session reverberates out of the vents in the library. After far too long he hears a strained ‘Fuck, Gin, I’m so close’, despite his hands over his ears, and Draco can’t help but mutter “Fucking get on with it then, you horny bastard” to himself. Ginevra sounds close again too, she’s got his name on repeat in slightly mismatched time with Potter’s hideous sex grunts.

Draco’s furious now, the frustrations of his morning’s task mixing with the omnipresent sounds of Potter’s Sex God status are pushing him right over the edge. Because of course Weasley comes three times in a row when she’s with him. It isn’t that Draco is any slouch in the sex department himself, all the evidence he’s had points to him being pretty bloody good in fact, but can’t Potter just cut him some slack somewhere? Beloved by Grannies and teen fan girls alike, darling of the media and Government, fêted amongst his peers, what more does he need, the speccy bastard? And soon to be seen as magnanimous enough to take even his own enemy under his protection (and no one would even know that was secretly mostly for his own benefit). Couldn’t he have a premature ejaculation problem to balance it out, for Salazar’s sake? Or couldn’t he just keep quiet? Anyone would think he hadn’t lived in shared dorms for seven years with the way these noises can be heard all over the house.

Deep down, Draco is aware his train of thought is unreasonable. Neither of them know he’s here, and he’s never heard anything of the like before. They have been discrete, and it really isn’t any business of his what they get up to in the bedroom, or bathroom either. But fuck being reasonable, he’s in no mood for it. As Ginevra gets somewhat incoherent, Potter finally comes. Then there is just the sound of running water.

Draco throws his notebook across the room. Perfect Potter, and his fucking charmed life.

 

* * * * * *

Harry flops back on the bed, damp from the shower. He’ll have to remember to ask Gin to do a drying charm on the bedding before she goes. He’ll probably melt his whole bed if he tries. Although his wandless control is improving, bit by bit. She climbs up next to him, towel hitched loosely round her as she leans back against the headboard. She looks relaxed, so unlike when she’d walked in this morning shortly after Malfoy left. She’d had a massive argument this morning with Molly about returning, or rather not returning, to Hogwarts. 

Harry’s day hadn’t started much better, he woke in a panic tangled in his bedsheets. He can’t remember what the nightmare was about, he can’t about half the time these days, but he knows it was pretty bad. More dead people most probably. He hopes Malfoy didn't hear, he knows his silencing charms are for shit right now, and he has no idea if he was screaming. His throat wasn’t sore, so maybe not.

He and Gin had opted to skip talking and fallen straight into bed minutes after she arrived. It doesn’t feel like they have much time alone now, not with Malfoy here. It feels a bit too awkward to run off to shag in the middle of the day with him in residence, even if he was mostly holed up the library. He and Harry generally worked on the familial wand stuff first thing in the morning, and last thing at night. Malfoy, despite what he said previously, is actually a bit shit at wandless magic, but he’s read up a lot on the theory, and he gives Harry the benefit of that knowledge in the evenings. The rest of the day is their own. It kind of works for them both to bookend the day like that. It feels like they are making some sort of progress, if only in understanding each other and the scale of the task.

Harry glances over at Gin, who is directing her wand at her hair, drying and smoothing it. He flops his arm over to rest on her thigh. “So what was that all about?” she asks softly. He raises his eyebrows in reply. She clarifies, “The unrelenting hardon? You’d suggested a quickie. Now it’s, what, an hour or more later? It just seemed like it took you a while to get there. You OK?”

Harry grimaces. “Sorry. I had a bad night. Took me a while to get out of the inside of my own head.”

Ginny wiggles her eyebrows at him, “Not complaining, 10/10 for effort, or should that be 3/3?”

He sticks his tongue out at her. “How about ratings for difficulty and artistic interpretation, Coach Weasley?”

She adopts an officious tone. “Difficulty I’d say, 8/10, the side entry with raised leg was particularly adept. Artistic interpretation could do with some work, for example your dirty talk could encompass a wider repertoire.” She wiggles her eyebrows again, and lowers her voice, “You may be interested to know I give private lessons for my most promising students.” She’s holding back the laugh bubbling up in her now, he can tell, and he decides to go in for the kill.

While she’s been gently mocking him Harry has been reaching around with his other arm, feeling around for his towel, and he manages to catch the corner of it just as she finishes speaking and flips it across to smack her wetly across the torso, delighting in her yelp followed by her collapse into hysteria. He joins in, rolling across the bed to grab her, “Need private lessons, my arse. You weren’t saying that quarter of an hour ago." He presses kisses to her shaking shoulder. "Although I suppose I have to admit your tutoring skills are undoubtedly exceptional” he adds in a mock begrudging tone. She looks so free, laughing like this, and moments like this feel to Harry like they are stealing back a part of their adolescence. It chases the dark thoughts away. “I love you, Gin, so much.”

She smiles at him and then curls into his body, resting her head on his shoulder. “I know. You may have told me a time or two before,” she teases. Then more seriously, “I love you too.” They lie there for a while, in companionable silence. As they both begin to feel the chill Ginny leans over to grab her wand and cast a warming charm and they resettle themselves side by side, beneath a blanket, staring up at the ceiling.

Ginny’s voice is gentle when she next speaks, “You know we’re not forever, right?”

Harry knows it. He’s not sure he’s ever said it to himself in quite those terms, but he knows it all the same. Neither of them even know who they are right now, and they both deserve a chance to figure that out, without feeling like they owe anything to each other. “Yeah, I know.” He reaches out and takes Ginny’s hand in his. She interlaces their fingers and gives his hand a squeeze. 

Harry isn’t sure if he wants to laugh or cry.

* * * * * *

Once Potter has seen off Weasley, he comes through to the library. As if Draco hasn’t had just about enough today. He’d heard them giggling away in Potter’s room, after the shower had finally gone off. It had been the last straw for his temper. He keeps his eyes on his book and ignores the presence at the door, hoping Potter will fuck the fuck off. Of course, he doesn’t, because if there is one thing the pillock doesn’t understand, it is when to back the fuck down.

“You OK, Malfoy? You’re back early.”

“Clearly earlier than you had anticipated” he says tightly and damn it, he could bite his own tongue off. He had told himself he wasn’t going to bring it up, but the undirected anger is roiling through him, and now it has a target. Potter is his own personal lightening conductor.

“What do you mean” Potter asks, leafing through some carefully ordered notes on the history of magical furniture. The Black library itself was proving to be a good source on the development of furniture style and function for Draco, if not on the actual magical underpinnings themselves. Draco turns to scowl at him, and Potter drop the papers, and holds up his hands with an apologetic smile. He looks relaxed, energised. Everything that Draco doesn’t feel right now. And doesn’t know when he ever will. He wants to scream, wishes he could let himself do it. 

The full force of his situation has hit him today: his removal from Wizarding society; his lack of true family connections, money, or influence; his lack of ability to continue his studies; his reliance on Potter; the fact that he’s stuck in this shitty house all day, with no hope of friendship, no hope of romance, or even just a shag. And Potter gets everything he doesn’t.

Draco resents it, despite knowing that most of this situation is of his own making, in fact _because_ he knows this situation is of his own making. He has no one else to blame. And there, right before him, is Potter, who he has had to throw himself into the power of. The antithesis of his whole existence right now, and he supposes he’s meant to feel grateful to him. 

He can feel it bubbling up like bile in him, fighting to be released.

“I merely meant that if you are planning to make _that girl_ repeatedly moan in that way, you might want to consider a silencing charm or two.” Potter flushes, Draco thinks it is partly embarrassment, partly anger at Draco’s sneering tone.

“Apologies Malfoy, I’ll bear that in mind next time” he snipes back. He can tell Potter isn’t happy with this conversation, but that he’s trying to bite back the snarky reply.

Draco pushes some more. Maybe he doesn’t know when to stop either. “A civilised property would have inbuilt silencing charms on the bedroom walls, of course, but this shitty pile of your Godfather’s isn’t up to that, so you’re just going to have to find a modicum of decency and do it yourself.” And that hits a nerve, he can see Potter’s fists clenching.

“Just drop it, Malfoy, and there’s no need to bring Sirius into this! Strangely enough he had other things to think about than property renovation after your lot framed him for a stay in Azkaban.” He pauses, closes his eyes for a moment, then opens them again. “I apologised, that’s the end of it.” Potter takes another steadying breath and leaves the room, but Draco doesn’t want to let the petty argument drop, possibly he can’t. Everything else is uncertain right now, but fighting with Potter was always his constant. He follows Potter down the steps to the kitchen, and when he comes in the door, Potter wheels round and fixes him with a glare. “What the fuck it your problem, Malfoy? Why can’t you let it drop? Are you _jealous_ or something?” 

Draco? Jealous? Of what? Of him? Of her? Of this place?

“Of you? Or _her_? Not fucking likely. Thank Salazar that little strumpet isn’t anything to do with me, nor her family neither. How does it work? Because she whores herself out like this to you does she get to become Mrs Chosen One? Is that the plan? King Weasley with that know-it-all Muggleborn in his hovel, and you in this pit with your ginger haired . . .” Draco falters, Potter’s face is thunderous and he knows too late that he’s gone too far. The air is glittering with Potter’s magic, he can feel it thrumming round him. It crackles over Potter’s wand which lies discarded, as it often is, on the kitchen counter. He can feel it gathering and then dispersing without focus from his own Hawthorn wand in his holster. He’s taken to carrying it round on him, even though it doesn’t yet respond to him.

Potter stalks across the kitchen towards him and Draco can feel his magic pushing ahead of him and towards Draco like a bow wave as he advances. ‘Not a liquid’ he tells himself, mostly to distract himself from his impending doom. Potter is right in his face now, and Draco muses that he has never really been scared of Potter before, but that maybe that had been his mistake all along.

“You don’t get to say a _word_ about them, about any of them.”

He can feel where he’s being pressed firmly up against the wall, despite Potter not laying a finger on him. He’s finding it hard to draw breath, and finds that he makes a rattly gasping sound when he tries. Potter’s advance seems to falter at that, and he takes a step back, the magic retreating with a crackle as he does so. Draco sags away from the wall a little as it releases him, hastily drawing in a lungful of air and coughing it back out, almost retching. Potter turns and walks out of the room.

“Go fuck yourself, Malfoy.”

* * * * * *

* * * * * *

Harry doesn’t know quite why he is sitting here, in what has become his customary morning spot in the living room. Kreacher, unaware of the tension from the previous day, has set breakfast and tea out for two as usual, and here Harry is, sat with a croissant in front of him. He’s still thrumming with anger towards Malfoy, and also not a little fear at what he almost found himself capable of. He’s not sure he can safely be in the same room as him right now. It might end up like their encounter in 6th.

He has no idea if Malfoy will even show. Maybe he’s Flooed to the Ministry, demanded a new guardian that won’t try and magically choke the shit out of him when he’s being a bigoted arse. He had thought they were past this, but clearly they weren’t. Turns out an evening of Firewhiskey and maudlin secrets does not a friendship make.

He pours himself a cup of tea, he can barely do it his hands are shaking with so much adrenaline in his system. He feels like he needs the caffeine though, he had a shit night’s sleep, spending most of it sat in the garden failing to concentrate on a book, and listening out for sounds of Malfoy. He didn’t hear a thing.

He hears the click of footsteps down the wooden floor of the hall now though, brisk, but then slowing and stopping outside the living room. There is a long pause where nothing happens, and Harry almost expects the footsteps to resume, to continue down the hall. He doesn’t look up when the door swings into the room and Malfoy enters. The other man sits down opposite, in what has quickly become _his_ chair and silently pours himself a tea. Harry risks a glance up and Malfoy looks like shit. Composed, aloof, but like his hasn’t slept a wink either.

Malfoy takes the Hawthorn wand out of the holster and places it on the table between them. This is usually how it starts. They breakfast and talk, finding out about each other bit by bit. Hermione had transfigured a Top Trumps pack into randomly generated ‘question and talking point’ cards, to give them something to go on if they are having trouble thinking of a subject. Then usually Harry attempts to hand the wand to Malfoy using Honos Familia, Malfoy tries out some simple spells, and when this inevitably fails they discuss other tactics to try. 

The cards are sat next to the wand and Harry leans over and takes the top one and turns it over. He huffs out a humourless laugh and drops it to the table. Standing up he picks up his cup of tea and pastry and makes his way towards the door. Turning back into the room he looks towards Malfoy who is staring back at him with an indecipherable look on his face. Harry would punch it, if he didn’t feel so bone tired, “You know what, I’m not fucking doing this, Malfoy. Not today.”

Malfoy picks up the card to read after Harry leaves.

~ Have you ever been in love? ~

* * * * * *


	5. Clubs, Penguins and Monster Munch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“What the actual fuck was that all about Luna?”_
> 
> _“Do you have tea, Harry? It is quite a long story and it probably needs biscuits. The sugar will help, I think.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings:
> 
> • Discussion of the potential in the past for sexual assault of a minor character. It was stopped before it started. Nothing graphic is described.
> 
> • Discussion of canon typical violence, magical torture, and subsequent healing of visible scars.

* * * * * * 

Friday dawns and Draco forces himself to leave his room. He’d spent yesterday holed up here trying to avoid dealing with the fact that he is a self-sabotaging arsehole. He needs to front up to Potter and apologise, however sick the thought makes him. His father had instilled in him the mantra of ‘never apologise, never explain’ and it is hard to shift, but the fact that it is something he learnt from his father is giving him some impetus try.

He idly wonders if he could manage to do every single thing his father disapproves of in a year if he tried, or if it would take longer for him to become a complete and _utter_ disgrace to the Malfoy name in his father’s eyes? He’s already well on his way after all. He could write him weekly updates. _‘Dear Father, this week I bought muggle clothes, so practical and brightly coloured. I enclose a photo for your amusement. My half-blood friend John and I are going on a date next week, what fun!’_

He can’t hear Potter in the house anywhere. He had thought he would be rattling around getting the place ready for his Friday night get together. It used to be just the Golden Trio and the girl Weasley, but on Monday Potter had talked about expanding it this week to include some of his wider circle. Draco hadn’t paid much attention, he chooses to spend his Friday evenings in his room studiously avoiding them. Potter usually sends up some of whatever they have ordered to eat, but he’s stopped asking him to join them as Draco’s response is always no.

He’s not in the library or living room, nor the kitchen, and Draco can’t see Kreacher anywhere either. There are lots of Muggle beers in the fridge, along with Butterbeer and large clear bottles of what seems to be some kind of alcoholic apple drink. On the table there are many huge puffy shiny packets of things variously labelled ‘Golden Wonder’, ‘Bombay Mix’, and ‘Monster Munch’. Several long flat packets lie beside them, some with ‘Club’ written on, and others with a picture of a penguin. Small blue paper cups with foil lids have ‘Choc Dips‘ written across the front. There is a sticky paper note, of the type he has come to associate with Granger, on the topmost bag which has ‘Snack Night - do not eat’ written on it in her hand. He presumes that note is specifically for Weasley. Having a larger group round tonight is clearly still the plan. He’s rather intrigued by the Choc Dips and hopes Granger will float one up the stairs for him. Possibly not if Potter fills her in on what a dickhead he’s been. Maybe she’ll just punch him again.

When he goes back upstairs from the kitchen he finally hears a sound, coming from the formal public drawing room. He steels himself. He can do this. A proper apology can’t be that tricky. He’s had to grovel to Pansy often enough, which has given him some practice. He walks forward and opens the door quickly, before he can second guess himself.

* * * * * * 

Harry runs down the stairs with Mi ahead of him, they’d been up in the attic when he’d heard the drawing room chime go off. He’s got Ron included on it so it should just let him exit the room, but maybe it is fucked, like the rest of the house. No one else is scheduled to arrive until much later.

The door to the room is already open and when he steps forward to look in, Harry is faced with the sight of Luna in front of the Floo with her arms out in the kind of quieting gesture you’d make to a flighty animal. Across from her is Malfoy. Harry can’t see his face but as he watches Malfoy almost pounces forward and grabs Luna tightly by the shoulders. Harry is enraged, he's about to step forward and ask Malfoy what the fuck he thinks he’s doing touching Luna, when Mi stops him by slapping her hand over his mouth and tugging him back slightly, stilling him. She’s clearly seeing something he’s missed.

Malfoy is just holding Luna, staring at her, his breath quick and shallow. Luna brings her arms up slowly, dislodging his grip on her shoulders and cupping his face in her hands. She talks slowly, gently, “It’s OK, Draco. Let me show you?” He steps back and shakes his head at her, and now Harry can see he’s as white as a sheet. “Let me show you?” she repeats and Draco makes a small sound. Harry can't be sure if it supposed to be a yes or no.

Luna pulls down the neck of her yellow tunic slowly, and shows him her collar bone. Turns and lifts her hair, titling her head to expose the back and left side of her neck to him. Facing him again she pushes up each sleeve to her elbow in turn, twisting her arms around to show back and front. Turning her back to him she slips off her shoes and then lifts the hem of her long flowery skirt a little to show him both of her calves, and then lifts her feet in turn so he can see the soles.

Draco is crying, Harry suddenly realises, tiny little noises more breath than sob. “All the ones on the outside were easily fixed,” Luna tells him, “It is just the ones on the inside that I need to fix now, but that’s the same for all of us, isn’t it?” She pulls him into a hug, he freezes for a second in her arms before returning it fiercely.

The Floo flares green behind them and Ron and Kreacher step out of the flames, each with a pile of Honeydukes boxes in their arms, looking at the scene with confusion. “‘Mione? Why’ve you got your hand on Harry’s mouth? Luna?”

“Master Black?” Kreacher wheezes, and Malfoy pulls back from his embrace with Luna. He looks wild, desperate. He pushes past Harry and Hermione in the doorway and flees up the stairs.

* * * * * *

_He is worthless, he thinks. Without anything which might redeem him._

_How could she even think to forgive him after what she went through? Because of his family. In his house._

_How dare he even think anyone could forgive him? That he had a hope of fitting in? He didn’t even think he could forgive himself._

* * * * * *

“What the actual fuck was that all about Luna?”

“Do you have tea, Harry? It is quite a long story and it probably needs biscuits. The sugar will help, I think.” 

Harry ushers them into the living room and calls Kreacher for tea. He’d never thought that Luna and Malfoy were close. He knew they were cousins, but then so were Malfoy and Ron, as far as he could work out, and they _certainly_ didn’t get on. And after the time Luna had spent in Malfoy’s dungeon wouldn’t even have guessed that they could be on hugging terms. Malfoy didn’t strike him as a hugger anyway. Luna hadn’t really talked to him about her time in captivity, but she’d been a mess, he knew that much from what Bill and Fleur had said. He doesn’t remember much about her in those few days they were at Shell Cottage after their escape, it is still all a bit of a blur to him.

“It was so good to see Draco. I didn’t realise you were friends now, Harry, although I’ve very glad you are.” Harry hands her tea, and a plate of custard creams and bourbon biscuits, and wonders how to sort this misapprehension out. 

“Not really friends, Luna, but he’s staying here right now. I’m kind of his, I don’t know, guardian at the moment, I guess, and there is a bit of trouble with getting his wand back to him that we’re trying to sort out. You know, after . . .?”

“Ah, yes, when you stole his.” She stirs some honey into her tea and looks thoughtful. “I worried about him being in that house without a wand after that, but I don’t think he would blame you, Harry, so don’t worry about that. You needed it more than he did at the time.”

Harry smiles ruefully. He’s missed talking to Luna, it is often confusing but makes you see things from angles that you probably hadn’t considered. How _did_ Malfoy survive in that house, with the Death Eaters, unarmed? Did the family wand work well enough? Had Bellatrix punished him? Harry realises now that they’ve never even talked about it.

“You seem very friendly with him, Luna, I never knew you were?” probes Mi, voicing Harry’s earlier thoughts.

“We weren’t particularly, until the Manor. I’d never noticed before then how sweet he is.” And, yeah, sweet isn’t a word Harry would use about Malfoy, and certainly not after the past two days. “He got such lovely food for us, when he could. He’d send an elf down with something, whenever they weren’t watching him. The Death Eaters really didn’t give us nearly enough. He couldn’t come down much himself, but he did when he could, to check we were OK. I think he got called home from school rather a lot this last year.” Luna has pulled apart her custard cream while she’s been talking, and is now scraping the cream filling away with her bottom front teeth, a favourite technique of Harry’s too.

“He couldn’t really heal us much, after they hurt us, as they would have noticed. But he did bring clean water, cloths and healing salve, so we could make sure the wounds didn’t get any worse.” Harry glances across the sofa, next to him Ron looks about as sick as Harry feels. He’s put his tea down and is listening to Luna in horror.

She picks up a bourbon biscuit and twists the two halves in opposite directions to expose the filling. She sits examining it closely, not looking up at them.

“He was really rather brave at times. One of the younger ones guarding us, I think his name was Rowle, he took a particular interest in me.” Although her words are light, Harry can see her hands are shaking slightly.

“Draco thought he might have bad intentions towards me.” She looks up at Harry, “He kept trying to make up excuses to try to be alone with me, you see, and Draco said that he thought that maybe Rowle would try something. He told Dean he should try and keep an eye on me if he could, when he wasn’t there.”

Harry glances round, Mi has her hand over her open mouth, eyes wide. This is clearly the first time she’s heard of this.

“One time Rowle had sent off the other guard on some kind of errand, and was heading down on his own so Draco followed him, because it wasn’t the usual time to check on us. When he went to unlock the dungeon he Confunded him, made him forget about me, and made him think he had been swapped off prisoner guard duty and onto guarding the grounds instead. He never came back.”

“So, I’m really rather grateful to him.” She glances up again, “Will he be here this evening, do you think, it would be lovely to catch up.”

Harry is tongue tied, the words she is saying are horrific but yet she manages to say it all so matter of factly.

Ron steps in “Harry always invites him, but he always says no.”

“Do you mind if I try? I’ll go up and speak to him now, unless there’s anything I can help with? I want to know if he received my letters.”

Harry nods, and waves towards the stairs, “Go ahead. Bedroom next to mine.”

* * * * * *

People are trickling in, in fits and starts, and Harry hadn’t quite realised how much he missed them all, while he’s been cutting himself off by hiding here in Grimmauld. Dean and Seamus rock up first and quickly get stuck into the beers. They’ve brought exploding snap cards, a deck of muggle cards, and a deck of wizarding cards with them, and Harry fears for the contents of his Vaults. He knows they’ll try and rope him into a game later, when he’s drunk, and he’s guaranteed to end up handing out IOUs to someone. Neville is next, and looking much better than last couple of times he’s seen him. Mind, one of those times had probably been when he was wielding a fuck off sword at a giant snake. After months of guerrilla action against the Carrows. Heroic, yes, but not neccessarily a _good_ look. 

It feels good to have the Gryffindor gang back together and although Harry had some misgivings about this evening when Ron and Mi suggested it, it is starting to feel pretty good. Neville and he sit in comfortable silence. Although it has been weeks since they have seen each other, and so much has happened, it doesn’t feel to Harry like the need to fill the silence just for the sake of it. These are his people, and he can just be.

The furniture has been rearranged so there aren’t any seats with their backs to the door. Him, Mi and Ron know as well as anyone the little kinds of things that can make life a bit easier to deal with, but Harry noticed that Nev had immediately picked this little sofa with it’s back pushed right up against the rear wall. Harry found that location more comforting too, and had flopped down in it next to him not long after. What Luna had told them earlier keeps going through his head.

“How’s your sleep, Harry?”

He’s startled out of his train of thought and turns and regards Nev, giving him a once over as he thinks about his reply. While he looks better, and a hell of a lot fitter that Harry remembered him being in 6th, he still looks a bit ragged round the edges.

“Shit thanks, Nev. You?”

“About the same I reckon.” They both take a sip of their beers and sit quietly for a bit longer.

Harry picks up the thread again, after a few minutes, “It’s forests for me. Mostly. Either being alone and not being able to find my way out of the one we were hiding in, or walking thorugh the Forbidden Forest, knowing I'll die when I get where I'm going, but never getting there. All night. It’s so crap, I wake up both terrified _and_ tired.”

“Snakes for me, inevitably. I reach for the sword and it isn’t there. That, and the snake nosed bastard himself.” Nev holds out his bag of Monster Munch for Harry to take some.

“Weirdly he doesn’t feature in mine. I think my subconscious has just gone ‘no, fuck off, had enough of him’ after all these years.” Harry takes several Monster Munch and lines them up on the tips of the fingers on his left hand, a bit like rings. “Forests, AKs, Sirius dying,. . .”

“Fuck yes, the Department of Mysteries, I get that one a lot.”

“Everyone dying, me dying.” Harry thinks it is kinda nice to let this out. Also weird, but, hey . . 

“Not being able to find my way around Hogwarts. Like all the corridors have shifted, I mean more than normal, and I’m trying to get somewhere important, or I’ve said I’ll meet someone to help them, though I don’t know where, and I can’t ever get there.” Nev seems to be on a roll.

Harry eats his last Monster Munch off his index finger. “My department of Mysteries one has a bit like that. Even more confusing than the actual thing. Endless spinning room after spinning room.” He glances back at Nev and laughs incredulously. “I still can’t believe you just actually stood there and shouted at Riddle in the end. It is what tipped the balance you know, you shouting at him, me escaping, you killing that snake.”

“I can’t quite believe I did either. But you were dead, so . . .” He shrugs. “We were fucked. Might as well go down shouting and swinging a big sword.” He grins crookedly at Harry and takes another swig of his beer. After a few more minutes of companiable silence and crisp eating, he starts brushing the crumbs off his jumper, and sitting up a little straighter. Harry can sense him looking at someone over his shoulder across the room.

Harry catches his eye, and then looks over his shoulder to see who has caught Nev’s attention. Luna is back in the room. He turns back to Nev and wiggles his eyebrows at him. He blushes and mutters, “Shut up” as she makes her way towards them. Maybe there is something in the rumours.

Harry shifts over so there is a little room between himself and Nev. It is a two person sofa really, but Luna doesn’t seem to notice. She smiles at Nev and sets herself down between then, curling up with her back against Nev’s side, half under his arm, so she can face Harry. He can see Nev worrying about where to put his hands, and he eventually settles on draping his arm over the back of the sofa in a move that is actually a lot smoother than he probably fears. Luna turns and smiles up at him and grabs his hand and pulls it down over her shoulder, and settles herself a bit more against him.

“So?” Harry knows Luna has come to talk to him about Malfoy, so he might as well get it over. He needs to explain it to everyone here anyway. Although he thinks Mi might have started on that on the other side of the room, with Seamus and Dean, who have been joined while he hasn’t been paying attention by Cho and Hannah.

“He’s feeling a bit better now. I got Kreacher to take him some sandwiches and fizzy water. He said he might come down later, but maybe we should wait until it is a bit quieter? I don’t think he’d be good in a crowd.” Harry isn’t sure he is himself really, and his living room seems to be filling up fast. Susan, Parvati, Ernie and Justin are there now too, although he knows they aren’t staying for long. They are meeting Padma and Anthony after their first week of Healer inductions finishes at about ten, to go out to some club in celebration. They’ve all been invited, but Harry knows he won’t go. Even this is starting to feel a bit much, and he’s glad to see it is a quarter past nine already, so it should get quieter again soon. No one has come over to bother him much, just throwing him a quick ‘hi’ or raising their glass to him across the room. He wonders if Mi has briefed them not to bug him too much.

“Who’s calmer?” Nev asks conversationally. Well, here goes.

“Malfoy.” He looks at Neville and though he seems a bit surprised, he also doesn’t seem horrified. Harry guesses that if he has been talking to Luna recently, and has feelings for her, then he may be feeling a bit kinder towards Malfoy than he ever previously had cause to.

“He’s living here with Harry now. Harry’s looking after him, while they swap his wand back to Draco’s control. Isn’t that lovely?” Nev mouths ‘Lovely?’ behind Luna’s back and Harry stifles a snort and gives a small shake of his head in reply.

“Malfoy, here, really?” Nev voices out loud, and Harry launches into what is now the well rehearsed cover story.

By the time he’s finished the wider DA gang are coming over to say goodbye before they head out for the night. Parvati and Co have persuaded Cho to go along with them, which will leave Ron, Mi, Ginny, Dean, Nev, Seamus, Luna, Hannah and him behind. 

Cho sympathises with him on his ‘houseguest’ as she kisses him goodbye, “Hermione explained, bad luck and I hope you manage to get it all over with quickly”. Justin and Ernie leave with brief handshakes and good wishes, Parvati and Susan coming in for a group hug with him, Luna and Neville. It has felt nice, easier than he thought, particularly talking with Nev and he resolves not to let it go so long before the next time.

Luna leaves the room with them when they go, and Harry knows she’s going to try and persuade Malfoy to come down. He doubts she’ll manage, he never even wants to be around the four of them, so he can’t imagine he’ll respond well to the idea of being amongst the rest of them too.

Harry doesn’t really want him there, mostly because he doesn’t know how to act. On one hand he is still pretty angry with him over his obnoxious behaviour the other day, on the other he is immensely grateful for what he did for Luna and not a little impressed at it. He’s also unsettled by how easily he magically attacked Malfoy. They have always managed to get under each other’s skins, but even so, it escalated pretty fast. His emotions are so unstable right now. Then he’s also pretty embarrassed about the fact that he’s aware that Malfoy now probably knows what he sounds like when he comes. He drops his head into his hands and groans, flushing.

“Mate? You alright?” Nev drops back down onto the sofa next to him, another beer in hand for Harry, and a couple of Clubs. “Orange or Mint?” 

“Mint, thanks.” He’s not sure if beer and mint chocolate biscuits will quite go together, but he’s willing to try. “Yeah, I’m fine, I was just remembering something so embarrassing that it may stay with me until my dying day. In fact it will probably be the last memory I have as my life flashes before my eyes.”

“You can’t say that and then not give me the detail. Come on, spill.” Harry doesn’t know if he can actually say it, and shakes his head, but now he’s rehearsing how to say it in his head he think it is actually too funny not to share. The memory of the look on Malfoy’s face when he’d prissily said ‘make that girl repeatedly moan in that way’ sets him off, and now he’s laughing hard and he’s not sure if he can stop. Nev pulls out the big hexes. “I killed a snake for you, mate, least you can do is let me enjoy your embarrassment. ‘Fess up. What did you do?”

* * * * * *

Luna has a firm grip of his hand, so he can’t easily back out now. Why the hell did he agree to this? She’s weirdly persuasive. Luna pulls him into the living room and he feels his head start to spin, his breath is getting short and he pulls back on her hand to slow her. He’s still not really recovered from his moment earlier. It had been the first time he’d seen her since the Manor, he hadn’t been expecting it, and it had totally thrown him. He hasn’t had an episode like this since 6th really. He had to keep them bottled up. Luna has featured in his nightmares a lot, both what actually happened and what might have happened if he hadn’t Confunded Rowle, being faced with her in reality tipped him over the edge. “Breathe Draco” she whispers and squeezes his hand.

He quickly surveys the room, it is a habit that he’s got into over the last couple of years, and he’s seen Weasley, Potter and Granger all do it on occasion. All of their cohort probably do.

He assesses. There is only one exit to the room, the one he is stood in now. All the chairs face it either directly, or obliquely. The window has a low table placed in front of it, but not completely blocking it. It is open a crack, he can see the curtain moving in the breeze. The table is covered in the snacks and drinks he saw in the kitchen earlier, along with the treats from Honeydukes. Longbottom and Potter are sat on the sofa placed against the far wall. Longbottom is doubled up with laughter, and Potter has his eyes closed and is hitting the back of his head repeatedly off the backrest of the sofa as if pretending to knock himself out. He’s laughing too. Longbottom has his wand in an arm holster.

Finnigan and Thomas are sat in his and Potter’s customary chairs but drawn up at a card table, they look like they are in the process of playing, but Draco can’t see what from here. Their wands are on the table to their right hand sides both. Weasley is looking on and offering comments. He has his wand as usual in his arm holster. 

Granger, Ginevra and a woman who he thinks is an Abbott are sat on the floor resting against a sofa. They are sampling various snacks laid out before them in bowls. Granger’s wand is in her arm holster, Ginevra’s lies beside her, within reach. He can’t see where Abbott’s is, which makes him uneasy. He knows Luna carries hers in the pocket of her skirt.

“OK? Let’s go and sit down.” Luna edges him into the room gently, propelling them towards a couple of upholstered foot stools near the card game. He’s expecting someone to spot him and freak out. He knows Granger has seen him come in the room, but she is pretending she hasn’t. He glances her way and sees Ginevra glare at him. Abbott looks up to see who she’s looking at and catches his eye and flushes. She looks a bit confused and panicked and can’t seem to look away until Granger puts a hand on her arm to distract her back to their snacks.

He can feel someone looking at him from the back of the room. Potter still has his head tipped back on the sofa, but Longbottom has noticed him. He’s suddenly very aware that he is still tightly holding the hand of the woman who Longbottom had shared a first kiss with last week, Luna said earlier that it happened while they were in his greenhouse repotting Flutterby Bushes and that it had been ‘quite lovely’. He’s also very aware that Longbottom has bulked up significantly over the last couple of years, and could probably easily flatten him. His insouciance towards the Carrows had secretly delighted Draco in 7th, he’d come to truly respect him for his constant and clever undermining of them. The Carrows had always given him the creeps, ever since he’d been small. He certainly doesn’t want the man to get the wrong impression of his intentions towards Luna. He pulls his stool a little away from hers as he drops her hand.

She turns to him. “There, this is better, isn’t it?” and the sweet thing is that she really seems to believe it is. She looks over at Longbottom and Potter and smiles, with Longbottom returning it with a wave.

“Harry looks more relaxed now too. Having so many people round was a bit of a challenge, I think. But he did really well, I’m very proud of him.” Draco wonders if Potter minds Luna talking about him as if he’s some crup she’s training.

Potter still looks off, to him. Although he’s in quite a relaxed pose, there is still a tension about him. He’s radiating an aura that seems designed to ward people off. Only Longbottom seems to have been willing to try and penetrate it.

“Malfoy. You in?” It is Thomas. There are single cards in front of Finnigan, Weasley, and himself, and has a fourth card in his hand, ready to deal Draco in. He wonders if he received the letter he sent. Luna says she got hers, and had sent replies, but he never received them.

“Yeah, sure.” He’s more of a chess man, but he’s played enough card games in the Slytherin common room to be able to handle himself.

Finnegan looks pissed off, but Thomas leans over to whisper in his ear and he sighs, then gets up.

“Fucking hell. I need a beer, anyone want anything?” He pauses, sighs, “Malfoy?”

This feels so precarious, and Draco really doesn’t feel in any fit state to deal with it but he has to, that or flee the room, and he’s already done that once today. He doesn’t like beer really, but now doesn’t seem the time to mention it, “Thanks, Finnigan, a beer would be great.”

Thomas deals him a card then sets the pack down in the centre, the cards fly off the pack, continuing to deal themselves out to the players. “Horntail, gentlemen?” He looks round and receives nods from them all. Finnigan drops into his seat and hands Draco one of two beers. He mutters his thanks and pops the bottle top off. “Dragons high? 2 Galleons each in the pot to start, if you please.” After everyone has thrown their coins in the middle of the table Thomas claps his hands. “Right, lets get this party started.”

* * * * * *

Although it is technically Harry’s ‘party’, he feels rather removed from it. He’s quite content to sit here on the fringes and watch his friends. Everyone has shuffled round a bit over the last hour or so and he’s now on the sofa behind Mi and Ginny. He’s running his fingers through Gin’s hair as she talks, he thinks they are talking about this wizarding distance education plan thing. He’s feeling pleasantly but mildly drunk.

Hannah has taken the footstool Malfoy was on previously and is playing patience with exploding snap cards, with Seamus and Ron still at the card table. Luna has joined Neville on the small sofa at the back of the room. She’s pretty much sat in his lap, to Neville’s obvious delight. He still doesn’t seem to know quite where to put his hands though as they talk.

Malfoy is near the window with Dean. They are leaning against the wall, facing each other, and both have bottles of beer in their hands. Malfoy is talking quietly but earnestly with Dean leant towards him listening. Harry wonders what they are talking about. Is Malfoy apologising? Trying to excuse his families actions? Malfoy has stopped speaking and is staring down at his bottle as Dean talks now. He’s shredding the label and nodding at whatever Dean’s saying. He sees Dean gesture is his direction, and Malfoy glances up at him, then back at Dean. He nods some more, looking down again, replying quietly. After a few moments Dean slaps him on the upper arm and makes to walk away. He hesitates and turns back to him, then sticks out his hand. Harry holds his breath, Malfoy shakes Dean’s hand briefly, then continues to stare at his beer bottle after he walks away. 

Dean walks over to Harry’s sofa via the snack table and throws a bag of Hula Hoops at Harry, and hands him a beer. He hadn’t been going to drink anymore, but he grabs an opener and pops the top off anyway. He can nurse it for a bit. He thinks Dean will say something about Malfoy, so Harry is surprised by his question, “What you think about 8th then?”

Gin and Mi both soon get dragged into the conversation. Mi wants to return of course, and is working on the practicalities with McGonagall, but Gin is still firm behind her idea of studying while she’s working and soon she’s explaining the idea to everyone except Seamus and Ron. They're still playing Horntail, and neither wants to fold, there are 21 Galleons in the pot now. Malfoy is half watching the game, half listening to the conversation about the possibilities for their continued education.

”So you really won’t be coming back?” Dean asks Gin, and his wistful tone is something Harry decides he’s just going to ignore. He’s noticed Dean watching her this evening, of course he has, but he’s not about to do anything about it.

He’d seen Hannah looking at Neville too, earlier, but he reckons she’s on to a loser there. All evening as soon as Luna comes into view he doesn’t have eyes for anyone else. He doesn't really know Hannah that well, weirdly she feels like the odd one out in the room, rather than Malfoy, but Ginny became good friends with her while he was away last year, which is good enough for him.

Harry reckons Neville’s going to have to get used to the attention though, if not from her then from others once they get back to school. He’s classically handsome, _fit as_ , Pureblood, pretty rich now he’s come of age and can access the trust his parents set up, and he heroically stood up to Riddle. The school populace is going to be well narked off when they figure out he’s already taken before the school year has even started. He must remember to give him tips on avoiding love potions, and how to magically screen his post. 

“Yes! You beauty!”

Harry looks up startled, to see Ron happily pocketing his Horntail winnings. Seamus is grumbling, ”I don’t know why we bloody dealt you in in the first place, I should have fucking known. There’s a reason I never play you at cards or chess.” 

"He always beats you?" Malfoy looks as surprised he's spoken up as Ron does, as everyone turns to look at him. He's only really spoken to Dean and Luna all evening.

"He always beats everyone, Malfoy" replies Neville.

”He’s a hustler is what he is.” Seamus continues to grouse.

”It would be a hustle if you didn’t already know how good I am, Shay, as it is, it is just _pure talent_.”

"If we run a betting pool when he's playing chess then people tend to place bets on how _long_ he'll take to beat his opponent, rather than whether he will." Dean clarifies, twisting round to face Malfoy.

"Specially if he's playing Harry." Gin sounds drunk and happy.

"Fuck off, Gin. I had other things on my mind if you recall?"

"Ah, yes, Quidditch" deadpans Mi, which has them all snickering. He even sees Malfoy quirk a smile then try to hide it.

"I hate you all. Every last one of you. I've no idea why I invited you all round." He tries to look outraged, but he’s got a feeling he just looks drunk.

He's never felt so content here in this house before. It almost feels like home.

* * * * * *

Draco has popped himself up on the counter at the side. It's in a little alcove and he feels more unobtrusive here. He snagged one of the hargover potions Kreacher had laid out his the way into the room, and now he's nibbling on a piece of toast. He doesn't really know why he's here, apart from the fact Luna knocked on his door and told him it was time for breakfast in that sing-song voice of hers. The Gryphin-horde are sat around the table, along with Abbott and Luna, tucking into a random assortment of breakfast products. Luna is sat across from Longbottom and they keep smiling at each other. She's put dried flower petals in his breakfast cereal. Late last night, when it all started to wind down, and people started turning in for the night, Luna had quietly said their goodnights and taken Longbottom off by the hand to one of the spare bedrooms. 

No one seems in a particular hurry to go anywhere, tiredly and quietly asking each other for tea, toast, jam and cereal to be passed up and down the table. Longbottom is the first to make a move home, he needs to go and take his grandmother out to visit a friend of hers. From what Draco has heard she's formidable enough to take herself anywhere she needs to go all on her own, but he's not going to judge. Luna drifts off with him to say goodbye and returns to the kitchen looking happy and with her hair rather ruffled.

"Well? How long's this been going on then?" Ginevra is the first to ask what they clearly all want to know. He feels rather odd to know that he was Luna's first confidante on the matter.

"Last week, I suppose, or maybe since the Battle. It depends how you look at it."

Ginevra looks thoughtful, "How about we look at it from the perspective of him having snogged your face off?" and he's starting to quite like her way of looking at the world, much as he’s loathe to admit it. He’d only really encountered her on the pitch before, but she’s different off her broom. Just as fearsome though.

"Oh, that was definitely last week. I was telling him about a poisonous vine Dad is researching, and he was listening ever so intently, and then I told him he should kiss me." He can see Granger smiling at that. "I've been round at his house quite a lot recently, his Grandmother and mine were good friends when they were young. Dad and the house were still a bit of a mess at first, so Dad asked Mrs Longbottom if I could stay with them. We spent a lot of time in the greenhouses, potting things up and taking cuttings. When I went back home I carried on going back a few days a week, to help him out. It is very interesting work. Neville's very good with his hands."

The assembled group are clearly trying to bite back laughs at Luna's unwitting double entendre, and Draco can feel himself bristling until he looks more closely at their faces. They all look so bloody fond of her. Dean reaches his hand across and squeezes hers with a smile. "I'm really pleased for you, Luna, he's a great guy."

"Handy with a sword" interjects Seamus in a voice laden with innuendo, and that sets off Ron. He's inhaled some kind of rice based cereal and Granger is patting him on his back, with mirth in her eyes. Hannah is blushing while resolutely staring at her plate.

Luna seems oblivious. She has lined up seven egg cups, and has a different cereal in each, and is sampling each one in turn. She crunches a mouthful of hoop shaped ones and looks thoughtful. 

"He has a very large penis."

And now Draco's inhaling his toast. 

"Oh! My! God! Luna! You can not say that." Granger is almost crying with laughter.

Ginevra leans over and hi-fives Luna "Solidarity, sister." 

Weasley goes a strange kind of puce colour. "Gin! Fuck's sake! I do not need to be thinking about you and Harry's . . .. Ugh!"

"And now we all are, thanks for that Ron," Finnigan wheezes with laughter, but Draco notices that Ginevra's comment has wiped the smile from Thomas' eyes, if not from his face. Interesting. He remembers they dated. The Slytherin’s always kept up to date with who was seeing who on the opposing Quidditch teams. Made it easier to sow discord.

Ginevra hasn’t noticed though, as she and her brother are now in a serious argument about privacy, boundaries and the right to self expression.

“You’re my little sister!”

“And let’s unpack that a bit, shall we? Would you be like this if he was fucking Charlie? Is it because I’m related to you, younger than you, or is it because I’m a woman?”

He’s startled by Granger speaking as she rummages in the cupboard closest to him and retrieves some grapefruit marmalade.

“Sorry about them. Ron and her had a loose agreement that neither Harry or Ginny would talk about their sex life in front of Ron. He’s a bit squeamish about it, always has been. Dean wasn’t supposed to say anything either, when they were together.” She fishes out a small jam spoon with elements of the Black crest embossed on the handle and dips it in the marmalade to sample it. “I’m sure you’ve noticed Harry’s pretty private, but Ginny, well. I think she’s off beam with the misogyny thing though, and I’ve told her so. I doubt Ron would be any happier to hear about it if it _were_ Harry and Charlie.” 

Draco wonders why Potter hasn’t told Granger about his outburst of a couple of days ago. He doubts she would be talking to him so freely if she knew. And he still hasn’t apologised. His stomach does a flip. He really is such a prick, he thinks.

He watches Granger as she walks away, marmalade in hand. She seems to be amused rather than exasperated by her boyfriend’s embarrassed entreaties to his sister, but as she returns to the table he notices she trails her hand onto Potter’s shoulder lightly as she passes him. He looks up into her questioning expression and, as she tips her head lightly towards Weasley and Ginevra, he shrugs and wrinkles his nose. She drops into a seat on the other side of Weasley from Ginevra, firmly grasping his arm, and when he turns to her she easily draws him into a conversation on what they are going to do with the rest of their day. Potter throws her a grateful smile, visibly relaxing, and turns to Luna asking her opinion on domestic magical plants for his garden. After a minute or two he searches round for a scrap of parchment, and takes messy notes as she speaks.

Draco thinks to himself that he’s never seen her look so supported and valued before. He’d always noticed her at school even though they rarely interacted, they were almost of an age and cousins after all. He’d only really ever seen her being the brunt of mocking or the subject of hurtful jokes, even with her own Ravenclaws. It makes him inexplicably happy to think she has such good friends now, ones who value how remarkable she is. It makes him miss his own friends deeply.

He reproaches himself, he is being awfully sentimental this morning. He wonders if he can put it down to the hangover.

* * * * * *

Everyone has finally left and Harry rolls his shoulders, stretches out his arms. He’d enjoyed last night, he really had, but it had exhausted him all the same, and not just because they were up to the early hours. He walks heavily down to the kitchen to see what state it is in, he’ll have to call Kreacher in to help no doubt.

When he gets to the door he sees Kreacher tidying the last of the breakfast debris away. Sat on the table are two cups and a fresh pot of tea. Malfoy has his back to him and is searching through the cupboard where they keep snacks and biscuits. Kreacher bows to Harry as he finishes cleaning and then he’s away with a resounding ‘crack’. Malfoy still has his back to Harry sorting through the leftover biscuits from last night, Harry wonders whether he should leave but the two cups make him hesitate. Is that Kreacher’s assumption, or did Malfoy ask for them to be set out?

“The first thing you need to know, Potter, is that it is never my fault. If something goes wrong, I place the blame elsewhere, I escalate, I distract.

He still has his back to him. Harry can see a tub of Choc Dip in his hand.

”The second is that I don’t think I truly believe that I’m worthy. Or redeemable. I’ve never been given to think that I’m good enough in anything I do, despite appearances. I’d never admit it, but I’ve always thought you made the right choice when you turned down my handshake at the start of 1st. And don’t think that isn’t difficult to admit. Anyway, it turns out that those two self-images are a pretty shitty combination right now. So, there’s that.”

Harry considers this, then picks up the tea pot and cups, pops them on a tray.

”I guess I can work with that.”

He lifts the tray and curses his current lack of ability to levitate. Malfoy still isn’t looking at him. He can see his shoulders are tense, the grip on the snack death like.

It’s not like he couldn’t have guessed those character traits of Malfoy. In fact he’s actually seen enough evidence of both Malfoy’s behaviour and his relationship with his father, to make them both completely unsurprising, but it is something else to hear Malfoy voice them in what is clearly his attempt at an apology. He’s doing a pretty crappy job of saying sorry, as far as Harry is any judge, but he’s probably just going to have to accept it in the spirit it is being given. He’s got enough hang ups of his own, he’s not going to begrudge Malfoy trying to deal with his.

“Bring one of those for me.” 

Malfoy turns confused, “One what?”

“Choc Dip. And a Club, an orange one. Living Room?”

The not quite acceptance of the non-apology is probably as graceless as the giving of it, Harry thinks, so that makes them awkwardly even on that front. He inclines his head towards the stairs to the ground floor, and then heads off without checking if Malfoy is following.

* * * * * *

The living room is back to rights after last night, one would never know the room had been full of other people last night. Potter’s and his chair in their usual spots, the usual question cards sat on the table. He sits down and deposits his handful of chocolate bars and tubs, and picks up his Choc Dip, peeling the lid back to reveal tiny bread sticks, and chocolate sauce.

Potter is silent, drinking his tea, and Draco carries on talking.“The other day, at the Ministry, I think it all just hit me. To some extent I’ve been ignoring it all. I pushed away the idea I might go to Azkaban,, what house arrest might mean, then after that I ignored that Mother was going to be exiled.” He tries to not to think about his father. He’s not ready to try and work out how he feels about that. “I’m not thinking about what I might do next, I have no plans whatsoever. I think that is why I agreed to come here to live with you, I’m just dealing with each situation as it arises, no thought for what happens next. As soon as I start to think about it, my brain just kind of shuts down . . .” 

He eats a breadstick, crunching the chocolate sauce covered end off as he thinks what else he wants to share. Draco appreciates that Potter isn’t interrupting him, he’s not sure he could get it all out if he was. His natural tendency is to clam up, swallow it all down.

“I went to the Ministry Archive, as Mother suggested, to look up the patents on the charms on the day that we argued. As you know I’ve got a letter as part of my parole that allows me access, so long as there is a supervising member of staff. The archivist blocked me at every turn. Politely. But still. I realised I couldn’t even look up some irrelevant information about some defunct bloody wallpaper. And it just hit me. How futile and restricted my life will be from now on. Everything I do will be at the whim of someone else. Likely someone who has good reason to hate me. Every choice I make will need to be ratified by someone else. I escaped my time with Him with my life, I’m no longer under my father’s control, and I have my freedom, but I still might not get to make a single life choice for myself.” He laughs humourlessly, “Although I’m not sure I would even know how to anymore.”

”And then I got home, which isn’t even my home, of course, but yours, and here you were with your girlfriend and your freedom, and whatever future you choose. So in my head I made it your fault. Even though I knew it wasn’t. Because that, Potter, is what I do.” 

Potter picks up the card he dropped the other day, Kreacher has put it back exactly where he had thrown it down. He reads it thoughtfully.

~ Have you ever been in love? ~

He moves as if to put that card away at the bottom of the pack, but then drops it on the table.

“I _have_ been in love. _Am_ in love. With Ginny. And she loves me. And yet on September 1st, if not before, we’re going to split up.”

Draco snaps his head up to look at Potter, he hadn’t expected this revelation. He’d thought everything would be pretty good in Potter’s life now the Dark Lord was gone. Wand control aside, of course.

Potter looks lost.

”We love each other, but right now we’re not good for each other, not really. On a day to day basis we’re fine, we’re great in fact,” he blushes. “Short term how we are works, but neither of us is going to be able to be the person we need to be if we’re just hiding away with each other. It would be so easy, to just keep on going, and to be honest if it was up to me we probably would, but fortunately Gin is more sorted than I am. We’re just using our relationship with each other, and the sex, as a way to avoid dealing with stuff. Or a way to calm each other. I think it is part of the reason why she doesn’t want to go back to school. If she does, then we’ll both just carry on carrying on. And she wants to change, grow, figure out who she is. And I need to do that too, although it scares the shit out of me.” 

“So, yeah. Love. But not forever. Or at least it won’t be the same way it is now.” 

Malfoy feels off balance. There is no booze to excuse these confidences, nor the focus of the loss of his mother to draw away his attention. But maybe he and Potter can figure out a way to do things differently. The world has changed so much for both of them, and it seems both their futures are unwritten. He certainly doesn’t want to keep on repeating his mistakes. He wants to feel free, like he did those few weeks with Kester.

Malfoy picks up the card and considers his response. He feels a little sick, it is one thing for his Mother to suspect, but to voice these innermost truths is something else entirely, especially to Potter. But at this point, what does he really have to lose?

”It was the summer before 6th. I’d just gone 16. I’m not sure it was love, it was too fleeting and intense for me to even consider what it was before it was over. And then during 6th there was no time to think of anything at all.” There’s a lump in his throat that he can’t quite swallow away.

”But . . . but I think of him often, now.” He sees Potter look up at that admission. Now he’s said it for the first time he feels a little easier. He’d talked a little to Pansy at the time, she knew his preferences, but he’d played it off as a fling; fantastic sex with a handsome man, “Being with Kester helped me figure out a lot about myself, I felt like I could be myself with him. While I knew, even at the time, that it was an escape for both him and me, I’m grateful for it. For having had him in my life.” He goes to the writing desk and picks up the album his mother had left, the lock snicking open softly as he whispers his fingers over it and it recognises his magic. He opens it to the last few pages, and hands it to Potter. He doesn’t look at the photos himself, he won’t get through this if he does.

“His mother is one of my mother’s oldest friends, but she hadn’t seen particularly regularly her for years. Mrs Menzies and Kester had spent most of his childhood in France, so Mother only saw her when she went out to our house there. His mother is French herself and she insisted on a Beauxbatons education for him, against his father’s wishes. They’d returned a few weeks before I met him, so that he could get to know his intended. Georgia. They knew each other two weeks before they wed, although I believe they had exchanged letters for a few weeks previously. He had only just come of age when they married. His father insisted on a British wife.”

“Fuck. I’m sorry.” Potter sounds empathetic. Draco doesn’t look up, doesn’t want to see that in his eyes.

“Don’t worry, I knew what I was getting into. He was a newly married man when I met him. And I was a newly minted Death Eater, with all that entailed.”

“I’d like to know more about him, if you you want? He played piano?” Draco risks a look up now and Potter has leant forward slightly, eyes down on the photo album open on the table in front of him. He looks genuinely interested. There is no malice in his expression, nor disgust. Draco relaxes a little. He thinks he can manage this.

“Yes, he played beautifully. It was music which brought us together at first. That and my mother’s misguided meddling . . .”

* * * * * *


	6. Wandless and wordless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _”You didn’t have a good childhood with them?” He’s not sure why he’s pushing, he can see Potter is uncomfortable talking about this, but all sort of things from school are starting to click into place. The ill fitting clothes, lack of post, his almost emaciated appearance when he returned from holidays. And he’d made fun of him for every single bit of it._
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _Potter sighs, resignedly. ”Not so much, no. I lived with my Mum’s sister, her husband and their son. He’s about the same age as us. He’s a dick. You reminded me of him when I first met you.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _”Charmed, I’m sure.”_
> 
>  
> 
> I think they’re starting to get a bit more comfortable with each other.

* * * * * *

Harry opens the front door with his elbow, bags full of shopping from the Co-op in his hands. He’ll be glad when he can get the anti-apparition charms on this places lifted. Seemingly Kreacher can’t do it. If Harry wants it to just be specifically access for him he has to do it himself, and he still doesn’t have enough control right now, although his wandless casting is improving greatly. He can’t risk accidentally letting the whole world in, so Mi reckons it’ll be safer with a wand. _‘Whenever I get back control of that’_ he thinks gloomily. He turns around to shove the door shut, then steps further into the hallway.

Then everything seems to happen at once.

His foot rolls on a wooden spindle that’s lying on the hallway floor, and Harry finds himself windmilling his shopping bag laden arms around to try and catch his balance. As he’s teetering he watches the spindle ricochet out from his foot, but as he staggers his feet slide on the next, and then the next. Fifteen of them, he thinks. Fifteen because he’s pretty sure there are usually fifteen spindles forming an integral part of his bannisters. Quite what they are doing all over the floor, he’s not sure. He barely has time to think _‘Fucking Malfoy’_ before he’s over the far side of the hallway, arms still flailing up and down. He hits a stack of magazines and brochures on the side table with one of his Waitrose ‘Bags for Life’ and sends them skittering under his feet and down the staircase to the kitchen. Harry follows them down, mostly on his arse and is quite glad he hadn’t bought any glass bottles or eggs. He comes to a halt halfway down.

”Malfoy, you utter dipshit. Why the fuck is it like Home Alone out here?” His shout echoes weirdly in the confines of the basement staircase.

Malfoy pops his head out of the dining room. He’s got that bloody magical monocle in again.

”Potter, what have you done to the staircase? I hope you haven’t damaged those. They’re originals.”

“I’m not sure you can call it a staircase when it is in bits, Malfoy. Or when it is _ALL OVER THE BLOODY FLOOR_!”

Malfoy sniffs and turns tail. “I _was_ quite contentedly home alone, until I was so rudely disturbed. And some of us are capable of looking where we are going.”

”Yeah, and some of us are capable of drinking all the poncy French apple juice you wanted without letting you have a drop” Harry mutters.

* * * * * *

Draco drops into the chair and grabs a croissant. He’s already been up for a few hours this morning. Sleep had evaded him, so eventually he gave in, got up, and went and studied in the library. He’s pretty much reached the limits of the information in it though. He’d not going to get much further without access to more specialist books. He wonders if Granger could help, go into the archive for him. He hasn’t seen her or Weasley for a few days but resolves to ask the next time they are here. Weasley and he still don’t really speak, but he’s had the odd stilted conversation with Granger, and she had seemed to be interested in his self-appointment work on Grimmauld.

Harry flings himself into the chair opposite and starts pouring himself tea. “Morning, Malfoy!” He seems unusually chipper for someone who fell down a staircase yesterday. And Potter’s sleep is as shot as his own, he’s sure, so he wonders why he seems so full of life this morning.

”You been at the sugar and caffeine already, Potter?”

”What? Oh, no, I just got some great news. I’m feeling pretty good.” Draco raises his eyebrows in question. He wonders if the Golden Boy is going to share, or if he has to guess. “Right! Well, the Goverment of Australia’s Magical Territories has had a breakthrough with Mi’s parents. Our Ministry could only spare one Unspeakable to go out and assess the case for a day. They went out with Mi a few weeks ago to get a good idea of what they were dealing with. The MT lot have been brilliant though, really great, they put a couple of people on the case, one Healer, one really experienced Oblivator. And it seems they are getting somewhere. I didn’t want to say anything to anyone, in case it didn’t actually amount to anything, but her and Ron went out a couple of days ago. I just heard this morning, they recognised her!”

If Draco knew what the hell Potter was talking about then maybe he could act appropriately thrilled. As it is he’s no idea why Granger’s parents are in Australia. “I’m sorry, Potter, you’re going to have to fill me in, I have no clue what you’re talking about.” And he thinks that probably shows how far they’ve come. That he’s prepared to admit when he doesn’t know something, rather than bluffing it out.

”You don’t know? I’d have thought their disappearance might have pissed off Riddle enough for it to be common knowledge with the Dea . . . with . . .by . . . in your house.”

”I wasn’t exactly a regular member of their inner sanctum. Thank. Fuck.” Potter huffs out a laugh at that. They’ve tried to stop tiptoeing around their history as much they can, often even finding a dark humour in it, but it is becoming clear to both of them how little they really know of the other’s experiences. He waves his croissant at Potter to continue.

Potter looks more serious now. His jolly mood faded somewhat. “She Oblivated them. Then she managed to get them out of the country, I’m not even sure whether it was on false passports or an illegal Portkey. As far as they were concerned they were Wendell and Monica Wilkins. Still dentists, still British, but living in Australia and having lived there for years. No children. She removed all her stuff, all the photos of them together, everything. She fabricated a new history for them. A false paper trail. They woke up in their bed, their house full of boxes with the knowledge that they had just arrived the previous day having moved from Perth to Melbourne. They thought they were planning on taking a career break for a few months, before looking around for a new property to setting up a dental practice there.”

”But Granger had to know she might never be able to recover those memories? And adding such a huge level of fabricated memories could have broken their minds entirely.” Draco knows how tricky memory charms are, he has a little experience himself. To remove such a large chunk of someone’s experience, to unwind all those threads of memory is a complex task. It can be done in mere seconds, but if it is done incorrectly it risks entirely collapsing a person’s sense of self.

“She had to, if she was going to fight. Them alive but confused was better than them dead, or held hostage. She knew she wouldn’t be able to do what was needed, if they were in danger. She didn’t trust herself to be able to risk them, so she made sure they weren’t at risk. If they were threatened then there was a chance she would give in. Ron’s family were able to defend themselves, but Mr and Mrs Granger would have had no chance. She left the memories of her in their minds though, in the hope she would be able to recover them one day, she just disconnected them from everything else.”

”Just _disconnected_ them? Have you any idea what complex magic that is, Potter? How low the chance of being able to undo what she did?”

”Yeah, I know.” a bright and fond smile graces Potter’s face, “She’s utterly brilliant.”

And Draco can’t argue with that. If the Healers really have managed to pull together those free-floating threads and wind them back into her parent’s minds then she has performed an astonishingly precise feat of Oblivation, one unheard of in depth and detail.

”Did she do the same to your family?” Draco has wondered about this before, where Potter’s family are. He knows he was raised by Muggles, but he’s never known how to raise the issue of their continued absence before. Now seems like the perfect opening.

”You really were on the periphery, weren’t you?” Draco could take that as a jibe, but really in the circumstances he’s just going to take it as a comment on his good fortune. “There was no love lost between me and my family. Riddle knew that. They were put in a magical safe house by the Order, towards the end, but I think he knew there was a limit to the risks I’d take on their behalves.” And that says a lot about his family, as far as Draco is concerned, as the Potter he knows usually takes a risk at the drop of a hat.

”You didn’t have a good childhood with them?” He’s not sure why he’s pushing, he can see Potter is uncomfortable talking about this, but all sort of things from school are starting to click into place. The ill fitting clothes, lack of post, his almost emaciated appearance when he returned from holidays. And he’d made fun of him for every single bit of it.

Potter sighs, resignedly. ”Not so much, no. I lived with my Mum’s sister, her husband and their son. He’s about the same age as us. He’s a dick. You reminded me of him when I first met you.”

”Charmed, I’m sure.”

Potter ignores his interruption. ”They bullied me. Didn’t feed me very well. They tried to keep me from going to Hogwarts when the time came. Didn’t tell me anything of my parents. I had no idea magic existed, until Hagrid handed me my letter. Magic equally terrifies them and makes them jealous. Or at least makes my Aunt jealous. Her sister was found to be a witch so she got to go off to a fancy boarding school and learn unimaginable wonders, she in contrast just about scraped into the local girl’s grammar, and took a secretarial job she didn’t really ever want. Then she married a very mediocre bloke, and lived in a non-descript house, on a mundane street. Me turning up on their doorstep, quite literally, threatened to break them out of all of that normality. For her it stirred up old jealousies, I think. Their son was a spoiled arsehole.”

”And they took that disruption and jealousy out on you? Even as a child?”

”Daily.”

* * * * * *

Harry has broached the subject before, but he thinks today is the time to try again. He’s got a different tactic in mind this time. Yesterday they had tackled the subject of some of Malfoy’s upbringing, after having discussed Harry’s. He can see Malfoy still struggles to speak ill of his father despite everything. He said enough though for Harry to understand that while his childhood was pampered, particularly compared to Harry’s, that is had come with a price. Where the Dursleys had expected nothing of him, and had resented any achievement he did manage, as sole Malfoy heir he’d had every unrealistic and high expectation heaped on his shoulders.

He waits until Malfoy is settled and has tea in his hand. “So, I wondered if you wanted to head to the Ministry Archives today?” He can see Malfoy perk up at that, he knows he’s read almost every relevant book in the library and is now stalled in the renovations. Harry has helped where he can, and much to Malfoy’s surprise he’s not such a slouch at charms himself, but he knows to go further they need more information. Although Harry is pretty sure Malfoy’s using the renovations as a way of distracting himself from his situation, he also seems truly invested. It is clearly a subject that interests him on its own merits, and he’s made reference before to the fact it makes him feel as if he is contributing to the household, rather than being a burden.

”I wanted to pop in to the Ministry, Mi wants me to check a couple of things for her about her parents return, and I thought if you came along we could go to the Archive. If you list out the requests we can put them in together.”

* * * * * *

The patents themselves are fascinating. They are written in de Gendt’s hand, page after page of technical descriptions on how the charms are formed and embedded, how they interact with the paint and the magical ground applied to the paper. With this level of information he wil be able to repair the wallpaper, and if the other papers and books that Potter is wheeling over towards him on a trolley are anything similar then he’ll be able to fix that bloody dining table too. And the bannisters, and reactivate the polishing charms on the wood furniture and the floors.

”We can make copies if we want, if you put papers in a stack on the table over there if does a kind of Gemino on the whole lot and it puts it in the tray to the side. Use these tags to mark individual page to copy in books. They prefer that to us doing it ourselves, it keep the originals more stable apparently.”

”Mmm-hmmm.”

The real innovation seemed to be in the layering. Before de Gendt annimation charms had been applied to the whole design, but he had a complex layering system with barriers inbetween the charmed foreground and background. It gave the whole thing a more lifelike appearance, and allowed for a staggered repeat between the layers. Ingenious.

”Malfoy.”

The question is whether he can somehow get at the underlayers without disturbing the uppermost ones.

”Malfoy!”

If he can isolate a segment of the paper, maybe behind some furniture where it won’t be visible, then maybe he can encircle an area with a modified shield charm and peel pack the layers of the spell and repair them.

”Draco!”

He snaps his head up. Potter has a grin on his face, heaven knows what has made him so cheery. He didn’t think he liked libraries all that much.

”I’m going to Muggle Liason, I need to get some paperwork from them, check it over, and take it over to Portkey and Immigration. Stops it sitting on someone’s desk waiting to be processed.”

”Right. Copying on that table there, you say?” Potter grins again.

”I’ll be back in half an hour, tops. I’ll help you with the copying when I get back.”

* * * * * *

Malfoy’s been avoiding the subject as much as possible over the past week, but today feels ripe for a breakthrough to Harry.

He pops his head round the door. ”Tea break time. Put the papers down and come to the kitchen. Or I _will_ confiscate them.

He hears footsteps a few minutes later. Malfoy looks pleased with himself as he comes in the room.

“Going well?” He’s pretty certain it is. He hasn’t seen Malfoy in the three hours since they got back from the Ministry. The Archivist had been most happy to provide what Harry asked for, and had even grudgingly tolerated Malfoy making notes and copies.

”Yes, very. These notes are exactly what I needed. I won’t be able to progress much further without someone who can actually get a wand to function, unlike ourselves, but I can work out all components of the charm work. Then once one of us becomes a functional wizard again we can do the repairs. Or possibly we can trouble Granger to help?” He flushes, “No, of course, she won’t have time. She’ll want to be with her family.”

”Actually she might, once she gets them settled in. She loves them, but generally they drive her mental. I doubt that will have changed. A break from them to think about something else will probably do her good.” Harry pours Malfoy a coffee. He looks like he’s going to need the caffeine. It is doubtful he’ll stop any time soon. “You’re really good at this Malfoy. I’d never have got half as far on my own.” Malfoy narrows his eyes suspiciously. Shit. While they are getting on better now, and sharing more of their lives with one another, they haven’t really strayed into compliments. “I just mean, you are pretty caught up in it all. Always got your head in a book, or staring at a bit of wall or furniture.” Malfoy seems to accept that begrudgingly. “And Hermione had some ideas, but without growing up in a wizarding house then neither of us knows half of this stuff the way _you_ do. So it’s useful, having you doing this stuff. Mi looked around to see if there were any people who would be able to do this kind of work for me, but there is really only one company who does this sort of stuff anymore. And by company I mean one old wizard.”

Malfoy sighs and sits down. “Yes, Cavendish, he’s legendary. And also pretty much a recluse. Spit it out, Potter, what are you trying to say? Stop torturing us both, your wittering is like a Crucio to my intellect.”

”You should come back to Hogwarts with us, in September. Concentrate on Charms as one of your NEWTS. Consider doing a Mastery.”

Malfoy sags, and drops his head, but he’s not saying no this time. “Not this again.” They’ve had the argument about going back to school before, but Harry’s never come at it from this angle before. He presses on.

”The way you threw yourself into that stuff this afternoon, you _love_ this. And if you come back then you have access to the whole Hogwarts library, plus anything Madame Pince can order in. You can read dusty tomes to your heart’s delight. _And_ we can continue working on the wand stuff if we are both there.”

”There is such thing as a Floo connection, and Apparation. And I can study from here using that excellent scheme of Ginevra’s”

”Nowhere near as reliable as us living in close proximity though, is it? And what library are you going to use? We know you can’t get into the Ministry one without me there.” And that’s a bit of a low blow. He can see Malfoy fold into on himself a little. He decides to drop his killer hex now, it is all he has, apart from continued wheedling. “McGonagall was saying there’s lot of things that need repairing at Hogwarts. They’ve physically fixed up stuff, furniture, paintings, and the like, but the charms need re-establishing in a lot of cases.” He can see Malfoy wavering, “Think about what a fantastic way it would be to make reparations? And to be _seen_ to be making reparations, and all while continuing your education. You’d have hours of Flitwick’s undivided time, and I’ve heard he’s bringing in some other experts too. Including that old wizard, Cavendish, that I was talking about. Who might need an apprentice. Maybe. You know, if a young wizard with skills and knowledge were to show how willing and able he . . . ”

”You are an absolute fucking bastard, Potter. Do you have no shame, using a man’s own weaknesses against him?”

Harry can’t help the jubilant grin on his face. This has played out perfectly.

”Nah, I think you’re confusing me with a different wizard there, Malfoy.”

* * * * * *

“Do you always have to put so much milk in your tea, Potter? It is barbaric.”

”Do you have to put so much sugar in yours? It is a wonder you have teeth left. Or a waistline.”

”Come on, let’s get our tedious daily chore out of the way. I have charm work to unpick.”

Harry places his hand on the Hawthorn wand, then picks it up wearily. They do this every day, and he’s sick to the back teeth of it. He’s got a letter waiting to owl to Ollivander. They can’t go on like this.

”Fine! In Honos Familia” he says. There’s no modulation or emotion to his voice as he says the incantation. The words feel meaningless now that he’s said them so many times. Without thinking he throws the wand up in the air over to Malfoy. He usually hands it over, handle first, with a formal bow of the head as protocol demands. As it leaves his hand he can feel a slight magical pull, like it is tugging away from his hand. That’s new.

Malfoy reaches out his free hand, he tea cup quickly balanced in his other. He’s a Seeker after all, he’s unlikely to fumble this simple catch. Nevertheless as it arches across the table he grouses at Harry “Fucksake, Potter, at least pretend you’re giving this whole process the respect it deserves.” The wand lands in his palm with a secure smack as he reaches out. “In Familias Custodia. _You dick._ ” he replies as he closes his fingers round it, irritation still lacing his tone.

Harry can _see_ the wash of magic that flows out from the wand and traces over Malfoy’s hand, then his arm, flowing up towards his chest. He can feel the corresponding release in his chest, the way the call the wand has on his magical core pulls taut before dispersing sharply like an arrow being released.

Malfoy laughs, genuinely laughs out loud. Harry is speechless. That this transfer of all of them, with its insults and lack of decorum, would be the one that stuck is ridiculous. But then maybe it is unsurprising, for them.

Malfoy touches the tip of the wand to the coffee table between them. Kreacher has done his best, but the wood has only a subdued shine. He pauses and looks up at Harry and there’s a brightness to his eyes that he’s not sure he’s ever seen before. He looks like Harry remembers feeling, back in Ollivander’s when he was 11.

Still holding Harry’s gaze he whispers “Nitidus Lignum” and as Harry drops his eyes down to the table the surface of the wood seems to ripple. It grows brighter, smoother, and it looks somehow years younger while still maintaining the deep patina of years of use and care.

It’s beautiful. He still can’t think of a thing to say.

* * * * * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The previous chapters have focussed in detail on just a few weeks. They’ll be some time skips from now on.


	7. Every crack, every curse mark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The waitress deposits a cheese toastie in front of Malfoy, there are a couple of sad bits of lettuce on the side, and a slice of rather anaemic looking tomato. Some cress sprinkled on top has wilted from the heat of the melted cheese. “You never liked it, did you? The fame or notoriety or whatever you want to call it?” The cheese of the toastie looks to be somewhere near the temperature of the sun. Malfoy snicks his wand out to cast a sneaky cooling charm, then settles it back in the holster with a casual flick of his wrist. He has a small pleased smile on his face. Harry finds his new found appreciation of magic quite endearing. Here was a man who had been privy to some of the most powerful and dark magic for generations, yet the other night Harry had spotted him sat in the dark of the library casting Lumos then Nox repeatedly like a 1st year. And he hadn’t even been very embarrassed when he realised Harry had seen him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains excessive use of a Press Release!
> 
> Content warning: panic/anxiety attack.
> 
> I don’t feel like this chapter moves things on hugely, really it is just the set up for the start of 8th, how Hogwarts is functioning, who is around, etc. Sorry for lack of anything much going on!

 

******

"I'm not sure I can do this" Harry's got a tight grip on a piss-poor excuse for a cup of tea. They're in a tiny caff near Kings Cross, waiting for Ron and ‘Mi.

"Oh no, you don't. You were the one to talk me into this, you don't get to Evanesco now." Malfoy looks so out of place, he really doesn't belong here amongst wipe clean table cloths and plastic tomatoes full of own brand ketchup.

They'd already deposited their shrunken trunks on _9 ¾_ about an hour ago, an Auror who has been assigned to guard the station is keeping an eye on them. They'd left as quickly as possible before they were spotted, there had been a few families of over eager 1st years there already. The idea is to arrive at the last minute, so they have an excuse not to stop, and swoop into a compartment that Seamus will keep for them Dean and Luna. Him and Malfoy, Ron, and Mi, and Nev will hopefully be able to avoid too much interaction with the press and crowds that way.

”This is an _awful_ idea, why didn’t you talk me out of it?” And he knows that’s unfair, this is entirely of his own doing.

”That’s right, blame the Malfoy” While his voice is sardonic and self-deprecating, Harry can tell there is a tension underlying it. Harry knows he’s being a bit of a prick about this. While he will probably get mobbed possibly with screaming and swooning, interspersed with annoying reporters and maybe some firm handshakes from the parents, the worst that’ll happen to him is a bad front page photo, and maybe someone trying to slip him a love potion. For Malfoy the possible consequences are much worse. He needs to calm down and make sure he is on his toes in case anyone tries anything. Him, Ron and ‘Mi have discussed how to keep it safe as possible, staying in a group, and he knows there will be both visible and undercover Auror presence, but he still feels like he needs to be on alert.

He looks up and see Malfoy eyeing him with what could almost be described as concern. “There is still time to choose to Floo in. You said McGonagall offered. I’ll wager that her Floo is open to you 24/7 anyway. She’s unlikely to be bothered by us stepping out of her fireplace, even if it is unannounced.”

“No, I need to do this. It gives them their story, between that and the press release hopefully it will give us a bit of breathing space. And the rest of the Hogwarts pupils are going to want to gawp, so this gets that over with too. The more I hide, the more it becomes a game of cat and mouse, I know that from experience. Better to brazen it out.”

The waitress deposits a cheese toastie in front of Malfoy There are a couple of sad bits of lettuce on the side, and a slice of rather anaemic looking tomato. Some cress sprinkled on top has wilted from the heat of the melted cheese. “You never liked it, did you? The fame or notoriety or whatever you want to call it?” The cheese of the toastie looks to be somewhere near the temperature of the sun. Malfoy snicks his wand out to cast a sneaky cooling charm, then settles it back in the holster with a casual flick of his wrist. He has a small pleased smile on his face. Harry finds his new found appreciation of magic quite endearing. Here was a man who has been privy to some of the most powerful and dark magic for generations, yet the other night Harry had spotted him sat in the dark of the library casting Lumos then Nox repeatedly like a 1st year. What’s more, he hadn’t even been very embarrassed when he realised Harry had seen him.

”God no. Did it look like I did? And you didn’t bloody help, did you? You and Beetle Skeeter.” Malfoy has the grace to look abashed. The waitress returns and dumps some beans on toast in front of Harry. It has a rather meagre scattering of plasticky looking grated cheese on top. Harry gives her a smile and she scowls and stomps off back into the kitchen.

”Delightful establishment” drawls Malfoy “I hear it gets marvellous reviews.” Harry picks out the sharpest looking knife and the cleanest looking fork from the tin on the table. “Yeah, but the Prophet are unlikely to come looking for us here, are they?”

 

******

The scrum around them is not as bad as he imagined it might be. Draco wishes he could communicate that to his heart, which is thrumming at high speed in his chest. Intellectually he knows he’s probably safe, it isn’t like he, Potter or the others can’t handle themselves, and he knows there are Aurors around, but knowing it and feeling it are different things entirely he’s finding. Potter looks shaken too, Draco thinks, but to the casual observer he probably just looks stern and moody. ‘Stoic and heroic’ he thinks to himself with a snort. Out loud he mutters “Breathe” to Potter as they walk side by side, echoing Luna’s advice to him the other day. He’ll refrain from grabbing Potter’s hand and dragging him to the train though. No need to start a riot.

As they walk forward it is like there is a some kind of shield spell in front of them. Draco suspects Granger of something for a second, before realising it is just their presence making everyone step back. No one seems to quite know what to do when faced with four heroes and a reprieved war criminal all in school uniform. The only ones to dare break the line are a reporter and photographer who push forwards towards them.

“Mr Potter, Angus Ross for the Daily Prophet, can we have a word about your opinion on the new school year? A photo of you and your . . . friends” He glances for a fraction of a second towards Draco at this, “as you contemplate the coming sombre moments of rememberance as you once again enter the scene of the fateful Battle?” The photographer has got her camera trained on Draco and Potter as they walk side by side. There is a Quick Quill hovering over a piece of parchment at the reporters elbow. The members of the crowd nearby are quiet, waiting to hear any reply. Granger rolls her eyes at the reporter’s pompous declarations, and replies with her pre-prepared speech, “You’ll find an owl waiting for you when you return to your office. Witch Weekly, Wizarding International, The New York Scroll, and the Quibbler have received the same press release. There are details at the end on the schedule for interviews which will take place in the first weekend in October in Hogsmeade, any enquiries before that time can be directed to Mr Potter’s legal team. Again, details on the press release. Thank you for your time.”

As they continue towards the train Weasley and Granger subtly change the formation of the group, Granger steps forward with a slight touch to Draco’s arm to draw him alongside her, Nev and Ron drop back to flank Potter. He looks at her, confused as she looks at him with a more friendly expression than he’s ever seen directed at him, and gives him a smile. “Better photo for the papers, Malfoy. Smile, you look like a stunned grindilow. And offer me your arm for God’s sake, you‘re supposed to be a gentleman.” He quickly sticks out his elbow and she drops her hand onto it, old pureblood style. The photographer is walking backwards ahead of them taking pictures of the group while they all attempt to look like walking to a train in this manner is entirely normal. He can see young faces pushed up against compartment windows, or even hanging out of them, trying to catch a glimpse. When they reach the train Draco stops and holds out his hand to help Granger up first, guiding both their levitating trunks inside. Weasley ushers Longbottom and Potter ahead of him and then quickly jumps up. It is just them, they’ve said their goodbyes to family at home.

As they’ve moved forward the crowd has been sucked along with them, pressing closer. As they start to disappear from view it seems to break the dam. The Auror steps forward and blocks the door as the crowd start up: “Harry! Harry!” “Mr Potter! I just wanted to give you my thanks!” “Harry, you’re my hero!” “I always believed in you Harry!” “Oh! Merlin! I can’t believe you’re going to school with Harry Potter!” It is cacophonous outside the train now, but weirdly hushed inside. Potter strides down the corridor to where Seamus can be seen holding open the door to a compartment. As they walk past, speeding up as they go, heads pop out of doors all along the corridor. He can hear the odd mutter that contains his own name, which makes him feel sick to the stomach, but the whispers are mostly for the Golden Trio and Neville. He imagines the questions about him will come later.

 

******

“Thanks guys, we appreciate it.” Harry claps Ron and Nev on the back, and quirks ‘Mi and the others what he hopes is a convincing grin. He’s shaking a bit, but thinks he’s got it under enough control that the others won’t comment. “Thanks for holding the seats, Shay.”

‘Mi has pushed the door shut, pulled the blinds, and sealed the door with a locking charm, she throws a muffling charm at the window for good measure and the clamour outside becomes less oppressive. Harry flops down into the seat and looks around. He feels exhausted now he’s escaped the crowds and press, but at least he feels safer now he’s cocooned away in the familiarity of the train.

”I can’t wait to read the press release Harry, I think it will make a very interesting article.” Luna’s waves the sealed parchment in her hand. It has an embargo on it and won’t open until the train departs. “Dad thought it best if I write the article, I’ll let you see it before it goes out of course.” The train jolts slightly as the brakes are released and they start to pull away from the platform, and Luna makes a delighted noise as the seal on the parchment flares and crumbles to dust which then vanishes. “I’ve never seen that before, is that one of yours Draco?”

”Yes, we thought it best to not release it until we were all safely tucked away. It can be linked to time, location, recipient or a combination of those.” He doesn’t mention that he’d developed the charm years ago at his father’s request.

”Read it out then, I could do with a laugh. What does our great saviour have to say?” Seamus teases. Luna clears her throat. Harry throws his hands over his face in embarrassment, he’d hating his part in writing the thing, is dreading reading what the papers twist it into, and certainly doesn’t want to hear it recited back to him now.

“You aren’t actually going to read it out loud, are you? I’m in the bloody compartment with you, if you want to know what I’ve said just ask. Or just pass it round and read it.”

”Oh, no, Harry, this is the _official_ version, I don’t want knock off hearsay. And it will have so much more _impact_ if we hear it out loud.” He can see Seamus is in a mischievous mood and he’s not going to get out of this, so he slinks down in his seat.

 

> **PRESS RELEASE STARTS**

> > ~~~~~
> 
> **Harry Potter returns to Hogwarts School**

> Harry Potter today made the journey to Hogwarts School at the start of his final school year, boarding the Hogwarts Express at Kings Cross alongside fellow 8th Years, Hermione Granger, Ronald Weasley, Neville Longbottom and Draco Malfoy. The newly composed 8th Year cohort will allow those whose education was curtailed or disrupted by the recent Second Wizarding War to study for OWL & NEWT qualifications, and will run alongside the usual seven cohorts for this academic year only.

> Headmistress M McGonagall (OM First Class) says “It is my great pleasure to welcome back all who wish to study at Hogwarts this year. Many students were in the unfortunate situation of having their education halted in the last few years and it is of the greatest importance that they are afforded every opportunity to gain their qualifications alongside their peers. It is of import not only to these individuals, but also to their families, and wizarding society as a whole. With this in mind Hogwarts Board of Governors, in co-ordination with all Hogwarts Professors and 8th Year representative Ms H Granger have written a programmes of study for returning students in 8th Year, and revision programmes for returning students in other year groups. Recognising that this critically important opportunity should be available to all, the varying needs of our alumni have been considered closely. To this end Ms Ginny Weasley has been working with the Department of Magical Education on a ‘distance’ learning programme for both OWL and NEWT Level study. We wholly support this innovative development in Wizarding education, and wish these ‘distance’ learners well.”

> Ms Weasley is studying for her NEWTS alongside her recently announced reserve position for Quidditch team the Montrose Magpies, “I value the opportunity to continue my study at the same time as beginning my career, and I know many of my peers feel the same. I’m grateful to the Department of Education for working with me to write the syllabus, and look forward to the development of further modules over time.”

> Mr Potter is eagerly anticipating taking up his studies again, in the secluded atmosphere provided by returning to Hogwarts. “Throughout our academic careers myself and my peers have all been faced with a variety of interruptions and disadvantages, not least the fight against Riddle, and the ensuing Wizarding War. I am looking forward to being able to concentrate on my studies in this final year, and taking the opportunities it offers before I move into the next stage of my life. Returning to Hogwarts is the right choice for me, and I appreciate the public and press allowing me the time and space I need to do so.” Mr Potter will continue with both OWL and NEWT level study.

> Returning to school alongside Mr Potter are Ms Granger and Mr Weasley. Ms Granger comments: “Our work together in the last year to bring about the defeat of Tom Riddle and his followers strengthened our friendships beyond measure. We look forward to sharing time together as we continue our studies in peacetime. We look forward to meeting again with our peers from all the Hogwarts Houses.” Ms Granger’s NEWT studies will have a particular focus on Arithmancy and Charms. Mr Weasley is also studying for both OWLS and NEWTS, on graduation he will join the management team of Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes.

> Also returning are Mr Longbottom and Mr Malfoy.

> Mr Malfoy, who has been placed on parole under the guardianship of Mr Potter, is returning to his education as mandated by the Wizenmagot. His crucial interventions both during the War and proceeding it provided invaluable help in the fight against Riddle, as testified to by Mr Potter during the War Trials. Mr Potter comments: “In the past few weeks Draco and I have had several meetings, both as part of my role in his supervision, and also in the process of returning his wand to him. During the course of our time together we come to have a cordial relationship which I hope will continue during 8th Year and beyond. I have expressed my thanks to him for the use of his wand during the Final Battle when my own was damaged, and his help in misdirecting Death Eaters during our earlier capture, enabling us to escape (Easter 1998). Draco and I have had far ranging discussions about the events of the Second Wizarding War, with him expressing what I consider to be sincere regret and remorse for his part in the events he found himself caught up in due to the actions of members of his family . I continue to appreciate the efforts both Draco and his mother made under difficult circumstances.”

> Mr Longbottom was instrumental in the defeat of Riddle during the Final Battle and in leading student resistance in the proceeding year. His studies will focus around Herbology and Healing.

> Mr Potter and Ms Weasley would like to use this opportunity to announce the end of their relationship. This decision is mutual and they continue to be on the best of terms.

> Mr Potter says: “Ginny is one of my best friends, and I one of hers. In the past few weeks we have both come to recognise that being friends rather than partners will be better for us both. She will always be one of the most important people in my life.’

> Ms Weasley comments: “Harry is one of the most important people in the world to me, and I know that will not change now we have decided to continue our journey as friends, rather than partners. We have always supported each other in everything we do, and will continue to do so.”

> There will be no further comment on their relationship at this time.

> ~~~~~

> **PRESS RELEASE ENDS**

> **NOTES:**

> Tom Marvolo Riddle is the birth name of the Wizard more commonly known as Lord Voldemort. Mr Potter uses Riddle or TM Riddle in preference to the more commmonly used monikers of Voldemort or ‘You-Know-Who’, he requests that where possible the Press do the same.

> Transcripts of Mr Potter’s evidence in the trails of Draco Malfoy and Narcissa Malfoy are available on request from Ministry Archives.

> Due to the unusual circumstances of Mr Potter’s extended mastery of Mr Malfoy’s wand’s between Easter and 2 May 1998 and the nature of it’s use against TM Riddle advice was sought from foremost Wand Lore expert Mr G Ollivander (Diagon Alley) to facilitate the successful transfer of mastery between Misters Potter and Malfoy.

> Further information on both the Ministry of Magical Education’s _Wizarding Education (Distance Learning) Act 1998_ and _Wizarding Education (Extension of Schooling) 1998_ can be found by contacting the MME directly.

> Ms Weasley’s first start with Montrose Magpies is predicted for October (date tbc). After the match Ms Weasley will take a few questions from the press on her position at the team, and on her role in establishing the new Distance Learning programme. Ms Weasley will not answer questions of a personal nature.

> Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes was founded in 1997 by the late Mr Fred Weasley and his brother Mr George Weasley with start up funding from Mr Potter. Mr G Weasley is at present the sole proprietor.

> Requests for interviews with Mr Potter on the weekend of 24th and 25th October may be submitted in writing to the offices of Mr Potter’s legal representatives, Mandrake and Scattergood (Hogsmeade & London). Please direct any other enquiries to Ms Mandrake at their London Office.

> **ENDS**

"Cailleach and Brigid, lay it on them all at once why don't you?" Seamus exclaims with a low whistle. Dean looks on but doesn’t say anything. Harry wonders what he thinks of his split with Gin.

”Best to, we thought. If we don’t then they’ll just keep coming back for the next bit, and the next bit. This draws a line under it for now.” Harry wasn’t sure about being so open, but ‘Mi and Malfoy had insisted it was better this way. Their combined opinion wasn’t one he felt confident in going against.

”Mandrake and Scattergood? That should scare the boggarts out of the Prophet, I wouldn’t want to be on the wrong end of that lot.” Nev sounds impressed with the choice. “And thanks for keeping my mention down to a minimum. They’ve been bugging me for weeks, so the least said about me in the papers the better in my eyes. Although maybe you can lend me Ms Mandrake if they still don’t leave me alone?” and Harry thinks Nev probably isn’t even joking. With him hidden away they’ve been bugging everyone else.

“They’ve been the Black family solicitors for years,” Malfoy interjects.

“Yeah, they dealt with Sirius’ will as he hadn’t appointed anyone. But I had no idea who they were, until Malfoy gave me the low down. Seems they don’t often take on new clients, but they said seeing as I’d dealt with them already . . .”

“It was because you’re Harry Potter”, Malfoy sounds exasperated.

“Maybe, but they said that because they already handle aspects of the Black estate for me, then they’d take on the other stuff too. Ms Mandrake looked positively thrilled to be allowed to terrorise the Prophet.”

Malfoy grins, ”The Prophet printed a scandalous story about one of the Mandrakes, back in the 1870s I think, they’ve never really forgiven them despite the paper printing a retraction after they sued the knuts off them.” 

How Malfoy knows all this stuff he’ll never quite fathom, his brain must be stuffed full of this kind of useless trivia. ”1870s? And she still cares? And why do you even know?”

Nev and Malfoy look at each other with some kind of fellow understanding. “Pureblood families,” Nev says with a shrug as if that explains. “They aren’t Sacred 28, but reputation still matters. It’s the paper of record for the Wizarding World.”

Luna has been reading through the Press Release silently and making notes in a little notebook. As Nev finishes talking she looks up and shoots a huge smile Harry’s way. “Congratulations Harry! It sounds like you and Ginny will be very happy apart, I’m so pleased for you both!” At that Harry laughs. Looking at it like that he decides he’s going to send Ginny a splitting up gift first chance he gets. There’s some new dragonhide gloves on the market that’ll be brilliant for when she’s playing over the winter. 

******

The sway of the train had eventually brought sleep for most of them as they headed north. Both the train and the carriage rides to the castle proving remarkably uneventful, beyond loitering students trying to catch glimpses inside their compartment every time one of them came or went. As they walk the last few steps up to the castle Draco can tell from the shift in atmosphere that it wasn’t going to continue so smoothly.

There are still a couple of hours of daylight left, and the sun is obliquely catching the stones of the Castle throwing the texture of the stone, and the evidence of of the damage, into relief. 

He didn’t quite know what he had expected, but this wasn’t it.

While the castle is whole, in a physical sense, the impact recent history had made on it is clear to see. Stones had been repaired, windows fixed, towers rebuilt, but everywhere a repair had been made it had been left obvious. A different but complementary shade of stone had been used wherever new had been added, clearly identifiable next to the gently weathered original. Where old stone had been reused it had been re-dressed on its face, and the mortar holding it in place was a subtly different colour, highlighting the areas that had fallen and been rebuilt, fitting it together like a patchwork. The differences were gentle and would undoubtedly weather down over the years. But for now, fresh and sharp, every impact the Battle had made could be seen.

Draco had half thought that it would be all magically repaired, not a stone out of place. It was undoubtedly within the capabilities of the Professors and the team of witches and wizards that had volunteered to work on the castle. He knew from the Prophet that the governments of various nations had contributed members to a team of the world’s best restoration experts who had worked non-stop over the last weeks. But a decision had clearly been made not to shy away from showing the extent of the devastation. His eyes didn’t know where to stop, roving across the surface of the walls, catching here and there in their path.

“Look! See where the giants walked.” Luna takes his hand, it brings him back to the moment. He turns to see what she means. Where the ground had been ripped and torn by the path of the giants footsteps, wild flowers and grasses have been planted forming pockets of wild meadow that are gently waving in the late summer breeze. They stretch off towards the edges of the grounds, a disjointed but determined line first across the formal herbal gardens and then into the shorter grass of the playing fields beyond.

”Fucking Hell.” Weasley’s voice catches as he swears and Draco sees as he turns that Granger has a tight grip on his arm. Weasley is looking up towards a high window, up on the seventh floor. The edges on the left side of the window are bright with the original stained glass. On the right half of an almost flower shaped area of glass has been repaired with pastel versions of the same colours, the differentiated stone of the adjoining window frame and wall continuing the bloom of the blast pattern.

Draco isn’t sure what he’s looking at until Granger whispers a muffled “Oh, Fred. Oh god!” into Weasley’s shoulder. And then it hits him, that’s where Weasley’s brother died, that’s Fred’s memorial, writ in stone and glass. A part of the building now, forever. Draco can feel his thoughts spiralling as he looks around. Everyone from 2nd Year up are assembled before the castle, each reading their own personal memories of the before, the during, and the after. They are all burdened with those boundaries to their lives now. Who were you before? What did you see during? What are you left with now, after? He doesn’t belong here, shouldn’t be here. He’s an intruder on their grief. He knows he doesn’t deserve to be a part of this moment.

He looks away from Granger and Weasley, it feels far too private. That’s when he sees Potter. He must have come to stop before the others did as they exited the carriages, which now places him behind the whole group. He’s not looking at the castle but is turned to the side, staring back towards the forest. Draco tries to get his own emotions under control, he can see the other man is shaking.

He creeps forward. “Potter? Harry?” he gentles his voice, but Potter still whirls around wand instinctively in hand pointed towards him. Draco holds up his hands towards him, showing him he’s unarmed, and although Potter’s eyes are wild, his wand hand drops a little. Potter’s not got full control of the wand yet, despite relinquishing Draco’s own back to him, but Draco would still rather not be on the business end of it. Potter’s breathing has upped in pace, he’s moved to staring round at everyone as they glance up at the castle. He looks back at Draco and seems to be trying to say something, but can’t seem to get it out. He shakes his head, tears gathering in his eyes as he starts to hyperventilate properly now.

Draco steps towards Granger and calls her attention with a brief touch to her arm and a hushed “Granger. With me. Now.” Then he’s immediately walking back towards Potter, plucking the wand from his now unresisting hand and stowing it surreptitiously in the Potter’s arm holster before anyone spots he’s drawn it. He needs to get him out of here. He grabs him by the elbow and starts to walk him down the edge of the crowd towards the front steps, Granger quickly follows and drops onto Potter’s other side. She looks at him and Potter questioningly. “We need somewhere private, now, where can we go?” Granger takes another worried look at Harry and hurries ahead of them in the door, where McGonagall is emerging. After a quick word with the Headmistress, Granger nods towards Draco and he follows as she leads him through the Great Hall and to an ante-room.

Potter’s having trouble walking now, he breathing is so disordered, but Draco can’t loosen his grip on him to get to his wand, for fear that he’ll fall. It means there’s no chance he can cast a featherlight spell on him to make it easier. He’s grateful when Weasley appears and supports Potter’s other side. At least they are out of view now. They manhandle him into the room and shut the door. Draco shoves Potter into a chair and shoves his head between his knees.

”Breathe!” he barks. He’s never been on the outside of this. In 6th Pansy had talked him out of his own panics. Luna had done wonders for him the other week, with her own strange brand of therapy. He’s even managed to slowly bring himself to in private, but he’s never done this for anyone else.

“McGonagall has called Madame Pomfrey, she’ll be here as soon as she can.”

Draco ignores her except for a brisk “Dim the lights”, as he sinks cross legged onto the floor in front of Potter. He grabs his hand. “Squeeze.” There’s no response and Potter is still drawing his breaths with no rhythm or depth. “I said fucking squeeze, Potter.” This time he gets a faint response. “Right. You’re going to stop fucking about with whatever this shit excuse for breathing is, and start doing it properly. I’m going to count. You _can_ count, right?” He can sense Granger restraining Weasley behind him. So she seems to think he’s on the right track with the way he’s handling this. He’s not so sure himself, he feels pretty out of this depth.

******

Harry’s hardly aware of where he is, what’s happening. He’s somewhere darker now, it feels smaller, more sheltered, which is better. He can’t feel the oppressive expanse of forest pressing in on him any more, nor the crowd of people ahead of him and their collective grief. Someone’s talking to him, has hold of his hand. “I said fucking squeeze, Potter.” He half recognises the Voice but everything is fuzzy, and he feels so cold. He can’t take a breath like he wants to, his body doesn’t feel like it’s under his control. He can’t see, his vision is blurry and he closes his eyes against the nausea of it. All those people, staring at the castle, what did they see? _He_ could hear the sizzle of hexes, smell the burn of them zipping off the stone, hear the shouts amidst the dust. He was too late, he had been too late, and he needs to tell them all how sorry he is. He’s aware he’s being talked to, but he can’t hear the words clearly. Harry tries to gasp his apology out. “Shut it, Potter, let’s do breathing before we move onto talking.”

He tries to raise his head, but the Voice shoves it down between his knees again. “I _said_ breathe: In, 2, 3, out, 2, 3. Potter, follow my counting, you’re breathing too fast, we’re going to slow it down.” The counting continues, his brain still feels like it is elsewhere, but underpining his rushing thoughts is the counting Voice. Eventually he starts to fall into their rhythm. “Right, slower. Try and breathe a little deeper. In, 2, 3, _4_. _Hold_. Out 2, 3, _4_.” The Voice has slowed the counting down. His chest doesn’t feel as tight now, although he still feels like he’s floating. His body doesn’t seem like his own. He tries to raise his head again, and this time the Voice lets him. He sits up and flops against the chair back, his eyes still closed.

”Good. You’ve figured out breathing. Give the man another Order of Merlin.” The Voice still has a grip of his hand and Harry gives it a squeeze. “Think you can manage to talk?” He’s not sure, doesn’t know quite what he can manage just now. He must have been thinking about it too long because the Voice cuts in, “Ok, I’ll talk and you can just join in when you’re ready. Do you remember where you were?” He nods. “OK. Well now we’re in the antechamber off the Great Hall. I’ve never been in here before, but I think you have.” He nods again. Triwizard. 4th Year. “You’re sat in a chair in front of the fire. Wea-Ron and ‘Mi are here too.” There’s something weird about the way the Voice says those names, but he’s glad to know they are here, it helps him relax even more. “There’s no one else in the room, the door is closed and Ron is guarding it. You’re safe.” He nods, squeezes the hand again.

”Right. Let’s try talking. What can you feel? Three things”

He wheezes a bit before he can get it out. “Fire. Chair. Hand.” He squeezes again.

”Hmm, only monosyllabic? Do try harder.” Harry gusts out a breath at that. Malfoy. The Voice is Malfoy. “Right. What can you hear? Three things.” 

“My breathing. The sound of the fire burning.” He cracks an eye open then closes it again. “An irritating wanker.”

”That was cheating, you looked.” There’s amusement in Malfoy’s tone. “Your favourite biscuit?”

”Mint club.”

”My favouite biscuit?”

”Those Viennese half chocolate dipped finger things.”

”Your favourite drink?”

”Soft drink? Pumpkin juice. Alcohol. Hmm, firewhiskey I guess. The good stuff that Sirius had stashed.” He’s answering more easily now, the tightness in his chest is fading and he feels like he’s coming back to himself.

Malfoy fires off a few more inconsequential questions on their differing tastes and preferences, and he sends answers back, quicker each time. He risks opening his eyes.

”Favourite room at Grimmauld?”

”Now you’re just fishing. The kitchen,” Malfoy pulls a disgruntled face, he hasn’t really touched the kitchen, Harry holds his gaze, “but I’ll give you that the living room is a close second.”

Malfoy smiles. “My favourite room at Grimmauld?”

”The library.” Malfoy nods and gives Harry’s hand a quick squeeze before releasing it. Harry hadn’t realised until he let go that Malfoy was still holding it.

Malfoy’s voice is quiet, only loud enough for him to hear, ”A physical connection can help ground you.” Malfoy turns his head to where Harry can now see ‘Mi, Ron and Madam Pomfrey standing on the other side of the room. “He seems to be back with us. Love of sickly sweet mint biscuits and obnoxious music included.”

“Just ‘cause _you_ don’t know any Muggle music past the end of the 19th century. You are not allowed to hate on either the Fugees or Moloko until you’ve given them a proper listen.”

Malfoy rolls his eyes. ”I like plenty of 20th Century music. Arvo Part is a genius.”

Malfoy unfolds himself gracefully from in front of Harry and stands. Madam Pomfrey steps forward with a vial in her hand. Harry recognises the colour of Calming Draught. She places her hand on Malfoy’s arm as she passes, patting it briskly. “If you think you need this you can have it, Mr Potter. We can talk about some longer term solutions to anxiety another time, but this should get you through the evening. I’ll have the elves send another couple of vials to your room in case you need them. It may be best to carry one on you, until we have a chance to talk further. ” He nods and downs the potion, he still feels pretty shaken and out of himself.

Headmistress McGonagall enters the room and looks over at Harry, with a relieved expression. “Is everything alright here now, Poppy?”

”Yes, quite alright, Minerva.” She shining light from her wand into Harry’s eyes, and checking his pulse. “Fortunately Mr Malfoy kept him from tipping completely over with some breathing exercises and the like.” He can see McGonagall look to ‘Mi for confirmation, and she nods and glances across to Malfoy. “Yes, he spotted that Harry was in a bad way before we did, and got him inside. Thank you, Draco.” Malfoy looks stunned by the recognition.

He can see Ron giving both ‘Mi and Malfoy appraising looks. ”That’s one huge chance she’s given you there, Malfoy. Don’t waste it.” Malfoy gives a tight nod. Ron squares his shoulders, looks like he is daring Malfoy to react as he says, “And, yeah, thanks.” He nods again.

”I’ve pushed back the start of the Welcome Feast a little. Do you think you’ll be well enough to attend, Potter?”

McGonagall is moving over to speak to him directly. Fuck. She’s had to move back the Feast, because he’s lost the plot. He can feel his breathing shorten again a little, the idea of everyone having to accommodate him beginning to overwhelm him. If he can’t even cope with just looking at the building . . .

”Fuck’s sake, Potter. It’s just supper. Snap out of it.” The words sound harsh, but Harry can hear the concern in them even if no one else can. He nods and tries to regulate his breathing, he recalls the sound of Malfoy’s counting and breathes along.

”Language, Mr Malfoy, if you please!” McGonagall’s voice is sharp and Malfoy colours, and mutters an apology. “However, I agree with the sentiment. Everyone from 2nd to 7th has been sent directly to find their new dorms and see the new layout of the common rooms by their Heads of House. 1st Years are being given a small snack and an explanation of the Sorting Ceremony by Madam Hooch. 8th Years who wish to are having a look around the Castle, those who don’t are in the study rooms in the library. No one will notice your absence Mr Potter, so no explanations will be needed. I’ll be seeing 8th Years to their new accommodation after the Feast personally, so you’ve not missed anything.”

She looks at him assessingly. “If you don’t feel up to it, then your friends can make up something about you needing to use my Floo for Ministry business. I doubt anyone would question it.”

”I don’t have to . . . to _do_ anything, do I? Say anything? That guy on the Board wrote to me suggesting that I . . .” He can’t even say it, the thought of standing in front of anyone and giving some sort of speech, on war, reconciliation and peace in our time, chills him. With all those faces looking up at him. With all the faces that aren’t there in the crowd. He knows he couldn’t. 

”No, and Mr Flint has been reminded that it is not his place to make that kind of suggestion directly without Board oversight. You won’t be receiving any more communications from Board members directly. If they have any suggestions they can direct them through me, and I will . . . take them into consideration.” God, he loves McGonagall. He feels his breathing settle down again. The Calming Draught is kicking in and he’s much more able to control it, when he concentrates. All he has to do is sit there and eat food, he thinks. People will probably stare at him, but that’s not anything he’s not dealt with before. “The Feast will start with the Sorting in ten minutes. I would suggest that acclimatising yourself to the Great Hall while it is empty would be advisable, Mr Potter. You’ll be sat at the table at the rear of the hall to the right, behind the house tables, along with the other 8th Years.” She nods at ‘Mi, Ron and Malfoy. She hesitates a moment and then takes Harry’s hand in both of hers. Her eyes soften as she looks at him. “It is _so_ very good to have you back, Harry.” He knows she’s not just talking about school. 

******

They are just approaching the new 8th Year table when the doors open and other students start to stream in. Draco’s stood near Potter, Granger and Weasley and he can see other students in younger years glancing their way curiously as they pass to their own tables. He tries to ignore them as much as he can. He doesn’t make eye contact. Draco breathes a sigh of relief as Blaise walks in. He strolls across to Draco, hands in pockets, the very image of nonchalance. Draco can tell he’s rattled. He reaches out to shake his hand. Blaise’s grip is firm and reassuring as always, they hold the handshake a beat longer than normal. “Draco. You’re well?” There are a world of unsaid questions hidden behind that one.

“The best I’ve been in quite a couple of years, I’d say Blaise. Yourself?” If anyone were listening, which they probably _are_ muses Draco, then they’d never know the depth of emotion that they are both feeling. He can see it in Blaise’s eyes though, and he’s sure his read the same.

”You’re setting the bar low there, Drakey, I’d say. I’m well. Train travel is very tiring though, doesn’t one find?” Blaise’s eyes flick questioningly to the Golden Trio for a fraction of a second.

”I find it quite tolerable myself,” he reassures. Fucking Slytherin cliches. Always on guard, never bloody saying what they mean. He and Blaise sit side by side, opposite and slightly down from Potter.

Pansy drops suddenly onto his other side, which places her unwittingly closer to Potter. “You’re an absolute wanker, Draco, and I hate you,” she hisses. She looks unsettled when Potter hears her, snorting a laugh. Draco knows Pansy has been furious with him for the lack of detail in his letters, but between the privacy contract and the Aurors reading his correspondence he has had to be circumspect. She grabs his hand hard under the table hard and draws it onto her lap. He can see she’s almost in tears, but he’s not going to be the one to mention it. He values his balls.

Blaise is the one that tries to break the tension, he leans over under the guise of reaching for a water glass and whispers “ _Love_ what they’ve done with the place. I must find out who their interior designer is.”

Draco stifles a guilty smile. He speaks while hardly moving his mouth. “Shut up, you arsehole, if you make me laugh you’ll get all our heads kicked in.” He glances up and down the 8th Year table. Up the far end, beyond Potter, sits one of the Patil twins, he thinks it is the Gryffindor who has returned, plus Corner, Bones, Finch-Fletchley, MacMillan, and Chang. On the other side of where he, Pansy and Blaise are placed sit Finnigan, Bulstrode, Turpin, and Nott. Theo has placed himself as far away from Draco as possible, he realises with a start. He tries to tamp down the flare of anger at the realisation, after all he really shouldn’t be surprised. There is a noticeable gap between Draco, Blaise and the rest. Longbottom and Thomas solve that issue by dropping into the seats beside Blaise, throwing Draco a nod and ‘Malfoy’ each which gets him a small questioning look from Blaise. Abbott sits opposite them and darts him a small smile before looking away. She’s clearly got over her terror of him then. Maybe Granger had a word. 

******

The sorting is over fairly quickly, thankfully. No hat stalls and also a few less students than usual, Harry guesses. The couple of them who had sorted Slytherin looked both defiant and terrified. As the last to be sorted, a very small Hufflepuff, settles in his seat McGonagall rises and silence falls.

”Welcome! I am very pleased to see our new 1st Years, and I look forward to getting to know you all. Your Heads of House will give you all the information you need to get settled in after the Feast.”

”Those of you who are returning will have had a chance to see the Castle by now. The work that has been done. The work that still needs to be done.” She glances round at all the tables. “I won’t insult anyone’s intelligence by spouting platitudes. Nor will I speak in euphemisms or try to hide the difficult reality for you. We respect your experiences more than that.”

“The War almost broke us, as a community. We lost many. Too many. I am heartened to see so many returning students, I know stepping back into this building was not any easy decision for many. I also know that it will be an ongoing struggle for some. Each day, for some, that decision to be here will have to be remade, reassessed. I hope that the benefits of being here, amongst your peers, amongst your friends, will help to offset the reminders of the losses we suffered.” Harry feels her gaze sweep across him, pausing a moment, before moving on across the rest of the 8th years.

“And there are reminders. There was detailed consideration when we were rebuilding Hogwarts of _how_ it should be done. There were many wonderful experts here to help us, for whose help we are immensely grateful, and they could have placed every single stone, every piece of glass or metal, exactly back in place. The 1st of September today could have been made to look just as it did on any other September 1st. The Castle could have been re-made so as a visitor would never realise anything out of the ordinary had happened here. It would have been the easiest course, in practical and magical terms. But the War did happen, Tom Riddle was defeated at great cost, and it happened here.” Harry is grateful for the grip ‘Mi has on his hand, it’s grounding him. He glances at Malfoy, he’s staring down at the table.

“After careful discussion, myself, your Professors, and Minister Shacklebolt decided that it was right for us instead to take the more difficult and unusual route of rebuilding the Castle in such a way as to make Hogwarts’ recent history visible. To honour what it, and we, went through. As you move round the Castle you will be able to see where each repair has been carefully and thoughtfully made.”

”Each moment of destruction can be seen written within each act of rebuilding.”

”It does not serve _any_ of us to pretend that we can forget. I am sure that in this moment many of you may not be able to begin to imagine that you can ever forgive. No one here will force you to, before you are ready. However I hope that it can come naturally out of the work we will do here together as a school.” Harry can feel the tension in the Slytherin’s near him at the 8th Year table, and the stillness of the rest at the Slytherin table, as she speaks.

McGonagall's voice grows sterner. “However, we _can_ and _will_ do that work. _All_ of us. Just as the damage was not down to one house, one sector of society, one family, neither is the repair.”

”It will be done by us being in classes together, by us sitting together as a school to eat, by us competing against each other as teams and Houses _with respect_. We must all remember that as well our Houses being capable of demonstrating the best of things: bravery, intellect, leadership and loyalty, that we can all just as easily fall into weakness, thoughtlessness, or be prideful and disloyal. It is up to all of us to guard against those tendencies in ourselves as much as in others. In that way I hope that that work will also be done by sharing our hopes and our fears, and by each of us supporting those around us, when we see they need it. It is that daily work that will rebuild our community. Not in a way that papers over the cracks, but in a way that lays them visible. It is our hope that the way we have repaired this very building will help serve as both a reminder of how we want to build our future, as well as a memorial to those who are gone.”

The Hall is hushed, every eye on McGonagall. She’s a commanding and mesmerising presence.

”Hogwarts is no weaker for us being able to see what happened here, and neither will be the Wizarding community for us accepting that there have been ruptures in our relationships, institutions and even in our families which will take time and work to recover from. I am not going to tell you that it will be easy.”

McGonagall has looked sombre and serious throughout her speech so far. Harry can see many of the students around the hall with arms around each other. McGonagall looks around, taking them all in and then smiles. “That said, you are all still children and young adults, and it is not on your heads to fix everything. There are adults aplenty, both at Hogwarts and outwith this school, to share that task with you. You have had a lot placed on your shoulders already, some of you more than you should ever experience in a lifetime, and I do not want you to feel unduly burdened. School is a time to learn, to grow, to enjoy yourselves. To make friends, and share joyful experiences. I hope that this year, and for every year that you are here at this school, that you will all have the opportunity to do those things. _That_ is as important as any other thing we ask of you.”

That gets a few appreciative whistles and shouts, and McGonagall looks pleased although she holds her hands up for quiet. “Now, I think it may be time for some food, don’t you?” As she claps her hands together dishes start to appear across the tables, drawing gasps from the 1st Years, and murmurs of delight from the rest.

******

They are all stood in what is a fairly small but cozy common room. There are a selection of sofas and chairs of different styles scattered around the room, including some by the small fireplace. There are a few little coffee tables and side tables here and there between them. Over at the side of the room is a long dark wood sideboard covered in jugs, tea and coffee pots, and large plates with serving cloches over them. Draco counts four doors off this room, plus two archways which lead to staircases beyond. Everyone is milling around talking to one another as they wait for McGonagall who is talking with Professors Sinistra and Flitwick by the door. Draco’s always liked Sinistra, and he hopes he’ll be able to get along with Flitwick. Potter’s words about apprenticeships and helping with restoration work ring in his ears. He’d always scored good marks in Charms, at least before 6th. Draco’s situated himself on the window wall, his back to it, looking out across the room. He notices Potter has done the same on the wall between the two archways. Blaise walks across to him from his conversation with Millicent and Theo, and pulls him into tight hug without any preamble, pulling back to look him in the face, “How the hell are you? Really?” He can see curious glances being sent their way and his shoulders stiffen a little. Blaise notices his nervousness, “Fuck them, Draco. You know I’m not normally one for public displays but if we’re going to be sharing a common room with the bastards for a year we should start as we meant to go on.” Draco knows what Blaise’s physical actions are saying: ‘I will not give his friendship up. I will not turn away. You mess with him and you mess with me.’ He’s beyond grateful.

”How are Millie and _Theo_?” he asks in return. Blaise pulls a face at his tone as he says ‘Theo’.

”Wow, Dray. Even a war and the rise and fall of a homicidal maniac don’t stand in the way of _you_ and a grudge, eh?”

”Yes, well. I find the darkest times are when one would want ones friends to be supportive. I guess I learnt the hard way. And I’m not about to make the same mistake again.”

Blaise holds up his hands in resignation. ”Just try and be polite, at least. We can’t afford to look bad, as you pointed out earlier.”

Pansy sets herself beside him, pushing herself into the small gap between himself and Blaise. She drops her head onto Draco's right shoulder, he feels the comforting push of Blaise's hand against his arm as Blaise tucks his arm around her.

McGonagall has been joined by Sprout, Pomfrey, and another Professor Draco doesn’t recognise, he hadn’t been at the Feast. He’s probably in his thirties, and quite good looking in a clean cut kind of way with dark hair. He looks incredibly relaxed with his hands in his pockets and a smile on his face as he glances round. He catches Draco’s eye and widens his smile slightly. Draco feels his stomach swoop. He has beautiful eyes. At that second McGonagall claps her hands to attract the students’ attention and Draco breaks eye contact. “Good evening 8th Years. I thought it best to personally introduce you to your new living arrangements, given this year is somewhat out of the ordinary. Before I do that, I’d like to introduce the new Head of Slytherin House to you. This is Professor Merrythought. I hope all of you are aware of the books his most talented Aunt, Professor Galatea Merrythought, authored on Defence. As well becoming as Head of Slytherin Professor Merrythought is also taking on the post of Defence. Professor Sinistra will take over as Head of Gryffindor, and Professors Sprout and Flitwick continue in their existing roles.” Fuck. He _refuses_ to develop a crush on his Head of House.

Merrythought smiles round at everyone again. “Sorry I missed the Feast. There was a mix up with my International Portkey. I’m particularly looking forward to getting to know any of you who are taking Defence,” and Draco thinks Merrythought is studiously avoiding looking at Potter here, “and those of you in my House. I’m available to talk to at any time, if I’m not teaching. Please do drop in my classrooms on the Third Floor during the day, or I have a private office in my quarters down in the Dungeons by the Slytherin dorms where you’ll usually find me of an evening.” From his voice he is undoubtedly British and well-to-do, but there is a slight accent that Draco can’t place. Merrythought smiles at McGonagall and steps back.

“Thank you, Apollo. Now, to your accommodation here. As you can see we are in your common room. It will be shared by all 8th Years. You may have visitors from other years but I would rather it were not a frequent occurrence. The reason you are in a different space, rather than within your Houses is due to the unusual nature of this year. We felt it would be unfair on the 7th Years to not have seniority within their Houses, so although you are all technically still in your original Houses and can gain _and lose_ points for it, you are housed here separately. Head Girl and and Boy have been selected from 7th Year, no 8th Years have been selected as Prefects. However Prefects will not be able to dock or award you House points, only staff may do so. You will have a curfew of 11pm Sunday to Thursday. On Friday and Saturday nights, you will have no curfew at all. Do not abuse this, or it may be reconsidered.” She sends a look in the direction of Finnigan and Bones. Finnigan is trying to look innocent and failing, but Bones gives McGonagall a big grin and a thumbs up. McGonagall sighs.

“This is a difficult situation for us all to manage. You are all adults, you have all experienced terrible things, and yet here you are back in school and expected to continue with your education and abide by school rules. The adjustment will be difficult for both you and the staff, I’m sure. We would like to hope that you can come to us with any concerns or suggestions you have.”

”We have already made some changes in the light of your situation. Through these three doors”, Sinistra waves her wand and three of the four doors open, “are additional common room spaces. There is a small study area in one, with desks and shelves, in the second is seating set out individually and in smaller groupings with curtains for privacy, and in the third are a gramophone, chess boards, a pool table and so on. We’re aware that you may need space from each other on occasion and we hope that having these variety of spaces will allow that. If you find yourself having difficulty with another member of your year, please _do_ remember you have the option to remove yourself to another space. The House Common Rooms have been adjusted in a similar manner, to give a variety of spaces for members of each House. You may visit your old common rooms on occasion, but again, please do not make a habit of it.”

McGonagall walks over to the sideboard and touches the handle of one of the metal cloches for a second. She then lifts it, to reveal hot toast and jam. “Another concession we have made to try and make your lives easier is to install these tables in all common rooms. At a touch of the handle on the cover, or on the handle of the jug, they will be filled by food or drink from the kitchen appropriate to the time of day. Signs will show what each plate or jug provides. We know that some days may be easier than others. If you wish to eat privately in here from time to time, rather than in the Great Hall, then you may do so. Again, please do not make a habit of it, for your own mental wellbeing.” she replaces the cloche on the plate and looks up.

“If we notice that it is starting to become more than an occasional choice for anyone then we will speak privately to you about it, to offer you support with reintegrating into the wider school community. We can not, and will not, ignore any of you shutting yourselves off from the rest of the school. As staff our doors are alway open, _please_ come to us if school life becomes overwhelming. We are here to help. Poppy?”

Pomfrey steps forward. “I think I’ve probably Healed all of you at one time or another over the years, and I’m not going to stop now. However, we will have additional Healers on staff from time to time this year. The Ministry have kindly provided additional funding for us to employ Mind Healers for anyone who wishes to speak to them. I would advise you all to have at least one appointment, even if you do no more than that. In each of your private rooms,” a murmur ripples through the room as everyone realises this means they aren’t in dorms, “you will find a list of appointment times and a notebook. Please touch the lock on the book to attune it to your magical signature. Healer Arogi has provided these as a safe place to record your thoughts should you need it. Once you touch the lock only you can access the book. No one else, including myself or the other Healers, will be able to see what you have written.”

McGonagall takes over again. ”Your names are on the doors of your rooms. Women thorugh the arch to the right, the men to the left.” She glances round the room at where everyone is perched or sat.

”Minerva? What’s the 4th door for?” It is Potter that has spoken up. Draco had noticed he’d been looking unsettled, and now he sees what has been bothering him.

”The 4th door leads to a corridor with additional bedrooms. It isn’t quite finished yet, so will remain locked, but when finished they will house the Distance Learning students during their week long residential later in the year.” She glances at Potter. “And Mr Potter, during school hours I think it would be more appropriate that you refer to me as either Headmistress or Professor.” Potter looks at the floor embarrassed and apologetic, while the Gryffindors snigger.

“Welcome back to Hogwarts. Enjoy.”

******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 8th will be in two parts over the next two chapters!
> 
> Do tell me what you think. This is the first fic I’ve written of any kind, so comments are always amazing!


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